Glass Slippers
by StudyInViolet
Summary: In the city-state of Moda where magic can be bought by the bottle, a young servant with many dreams finds herself unwillingly in her own real-life fairy tale. Can she make all her dreams come true? An AU piece featuring the ensemble cast.
1. In which many introductions are made

Chapter One

"And would you believe Mister Daniel has to shimmy down the side of the house so the girl's father wouldn't find out!"

Hilda laughed at the end of the tale. "I wonder it was for his reputation or the girl's family's?"

"I doubt we'll ever know." Beatrice replied as she tossed the end of a sheet. Hilda caught it deftly and with the air of long practice the two sisters pulled the sheet out so they could begin to fold. "But I enjoy hearing the stories."

"You enjoy hearing Papi's stories of our homeland. Of the queens with glittery faerie wings, magicians that wield both swords and wands, and gypsy trains roaming about with or the next adventure."

"I like stories, they speak to people. There is a link between the storyteller and-" Beatrice frowned seeing Hilda's mocking her words. "Now you're being childish," she said shoving the folded sheet in her sister's arms. She slumped against the rail. "You're making fun of me again."

"I am," Hilda said neatly placing the sheet onto the pile. "Because you need to start growing up and give up on such dreams." She joined her sister staring down at the busy streets below. While Meade Hall was well in elite embrace of the rich of the city, people loved to be seen by other people around the majestic gates and gardens. The Mistress of the estate the infamous Claire Meade whose public image was at one time tarnished by scandal, loved to entertain those were wished to rub elbows. Given both her children, Mister Daniel and Miss Alexandra had yet to wed, suitors came as well. All these factors meant a never ending series of callers and never-ending pile of chores for them to do.

"If I can't dream than how can endure all this?" Beatrice bemoaned casting a hand to the laundry. "Mistress Slater is coming once again to the estate, and she and our mistress have the sort of relationship that involved the finest of all the Meade Hall has to offer and barbed insults behind smiles."

"Yet Christina wondered why we haven't asked to get her latest cleaning spells."

"You spoke with her?" Beatrice said growing interested at the mentioned of her friend. "I haven't the chance to go by her spell shop. Is she doing well?"

"Justin spoke with her. He was sent on errand yesterday and none too eager to return back I tell you." Hilda rose to her feet and pulled off the next sheet off the drying line. "Christina is doing well enough for a witch with only simple goals in mind. She's trying to pay passage for her husband to come over."

"He's traveling a great deal of the world, venturing into the Feywood, and speaking with the Dragon Lord himself!"

"Dragon!" Hilda said alarmed. "I thought dragons went extinct centuries ago!"

"It's just a title," Beatrice said moving to help, "but I can't wait to hear more stories, and what new spells Christina is cooking up!"

"I did manage to wrestle on bit of news from Justin." Hilda added, "Christina it getting an apprentice."

"Apprentice? She said she couldn't teach anyone."

"I don't know any details, but I heard the student likes to know all the facts about anything. He's suppose to be in town for five months."

"Then," Beatrice added sourly, "We'll see if he sensible as well and doesn't get all excited when a Prince arrives."

Hilda let a sigh, clutching a hand to her chest. "A prince from the east! Prince Giovanni who the people say will arrive by the aircraft!"

Beatrice ignored her sister folding the rest of the laundry, "They're throwing a ball for him in his honor, and he's even lodging in the old Sommers house. When people keep talking about someone in a fawning manner it means he isn't that wonderful."

"It's a real life prince, Beatrice," Hilda said amused, "what about all your dreams and fantasies? If you go to the ball you might fall in love, he'll marry you, and our family will be saved from this life of drudgery!"

"The Meades treat us fair," Beatrice replied loyally, "and why do I have to marry a prince, you can. You're much more beautiful than me. Anthony," she teased, "certainly said so in the love letters I found."

"Why you little sneak!" Hilda exclaimed tossing a sheet into Beatrice's face. She added a bit more mockingly. "It has to be you, Beatrice. No one will marry someone with a bastard son."

"Surely-"

"No we're not talking about this, we have a pile of laundry to bring back downstairs, and you need to make sure Papi isn't-"

"Mixing spells with spices again, I know. I wish he would let us buy him glasses."

"Wouldn't wear them anyway," Hilda remarked as the two women picked up the basket and descended the stairs back to the main house.

"There you are!" Amanda exclaimed hurrying towards them. "I need you to help me with Miss Alexandra!"

"Miss Alexandra," Beatrice said startled as the older girl dragged her down the stairs. "Has she gotten upset again?"

Opening the servants' door, they missed being reamed with a glass bottle.

"This was the wrong one!" Alexandra screamed in the midst of the shambles of her rom. She clutched her hair which instead of her beautiful blond locks was a noxious green shade. "You got me the wrong bottle!"

"Beatrice please, go get another!" Amanda cried avoiding an oil lamp being thrown at her., "I think it's affecting her mood as well. She's always been too mild mannered."

Beatrice picked up the bottle, and rolled up the label that got folded in half. "There is a good reason Miss Alexandra," Beatrice said calmly as her young mistress threw the contents of her vanity at her, "that you have servants to buy potions and spells for you. We know exactly what's suitable for a lady of your degree and we don't buy them from the cheapest vendor." She pocketed the bottled and smiled thinly at Amanda. "I'll go run out and buy it. In the meantime." Beatrice picked up a vial. "Give this to her."

"Will it make her calm down?"

"She'll faint," Beatrice replied.

"Isn't that a bit cruel?" Amanda said with wide eyes.

The two servants ducked as a chair was flung at their heads.

"I'll do it." Amanda said turning to brace the storm that was brewing.

Beatrice picked up her skirts and hurried down the servants' stair, emerging into their quarters.

"Aunt Bea," Justin said as she burst into the room she shared with him and Hilda. Her nephew was in the midst of practicing his arithmetic the chalk dangling from his hand. "Where are you going? Mistress Slater is about to arrive. I heard that everyone will be needed when she arrives."

"I have to run an errand."

"Like when Mister Daniel had trouble with enchantress."

Beatrice shrugged figuring even at twelve he was too young to fully understand what happened. "Something like that." Beatrice flung a cloak over her clothes and grabbed her basket.

"Grandpa said it was going to rain, you need to hurry," Justin called as she ran out the room.

Beatrice never went out to market by herself. Usually Hilda went with her, or, if he wasn't pursing something in skirt, she could convince Nicholas to be an escort. But today wasn't the case. Hilda was busy doing both her and Beatrice's chores, and Nicholas and the rest of the male servants were tending the garden under Mistress Meade's careful eye.

Sneaking out the estate wasn't hard, and she was barely noted as by the overdressed bootlickers in the streets. Christina's wasn't that far away, she recalled as she dodged horse drawn carriages as her shoes beat against the cobblestones. And it was fairly safe as well; she wasn't likely to run into trouble.

Skipping aside to avoid running into a baker with large wedding cake in a wheelbarrow, she ran into a man carrying a large glass bowl.

Instead of rain of glass splinters, white fluff came pouring down upon her head. Snow, she thought touching her clothes in bewilderment, "Where on earth did this come from?"

A loud sigh of relief brought her attention upwards. "Thank the gods," the stranger said nervously pushing up his glasses. "I never preformed a spell that fast before. Are you alright?"

"You're a wizard?" Beatrice relaxing once she found a reasonable excuse for the extraordinary experience. "Why were you carrying glass around?"

That was the wrong question to ask. The man, brown eyes lit up and excited smile crossed his face. "I was going to use it for a star gazing spell-"

"Never mind," Beatrice said trying to hurry to Christina's. "Just be careful, it's dangerous when spells go awry."

"Wait," he called as Beatrice hurried down the street. "Do you know the way-"

Beatrice already turned the corner and headed through down the street. Halfway down it she began to wish she took the shortcut despite the obvious risk involved. A fancy carriage had stopped in the middle of the street. Unlike like most of the rich who rather flaunt by merely ignoring the common people and splattering them in mud as they passed, this noble had to arrogance to stop market traffic for him.

Beatrice nudged her way to the closer fringes, craning her head to see over some people taller than her. She didn't recognize the coat of arms on the door, with Mistress Meade being a prominent member of society Beatrice was quite sure she could recognize every rich and noble family in this city. But she didn't know this one.

Which meant…

A trumpet sounded as the doors of the carriage sprung open. A young boy lowered the horned instrument calling clearly to the crowd.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, I grant you his Highness, Crown Prince of the Eastern Isles, Giovanni Rossi of House Panino!"

The prince, Beatrice groaned rolling her eyes while cheers filled the crowd. Will there nothing more important that some self-centered fop making his name known?

Not even wanting to catch a glance, she pushed her way through the crowd and ran rather unladylike towards Christina's shop.

"Well hello love, what brings you here?" The warm accent always calmed Beatrice, because Christina had answer to everything even the most strange. Her shop was just as warm, cluttered with spell books, leaflets describing major spell effects, and map pinned on the wall of her home, the tiny country where the beer was green. Getting out the way of a broom sweeping itself across the floor, Beatrice replied:

"Trouble as usual."

Christina looked up from stirring her cauldron. "Trouble you say? Hop behind the counter then."

"What do you have brewing," Beatrice said momentarily forgetting her worries as she lifted the countertop coming to the back part of the store. "music that you can carry in your pocket, a spell that allows you talk to people far away, something to make your breath under water?"

"Even better." Christina picked up her spoon revealing a sopping wet garment. "Take an ordinary dress cast a bit of magic," she waved a hand sending sparks flying in the air, "and poof a beautiful ball gown!"

Beatrice glanced at the gray dress. "I wouldn't wear that to the ball."

"It's a work in progress," she pulled down her sleeves, causing the bangles around her wrists to jingle about. "You came here for reason? Mistress Meade needs another spell to keep her gardens lovelier than Mistress Slater's?"

"No, it's for Miss Alexandra. She used the wrong hair spell. Her hair is green."

"Oooh," Christina said wincing as she pulled as a lever. "A bad temper as well."

"How did you know?"

"A good guess." The various spells and potions circled around her head as she looked at them closely. "This is one making you seem taller, that's one for lying extremely well, this one for pretending your insane, here we are." She lifted the lever back up as she plucked the bottle up.

"The essence of toad, the hair of a unicorn, and a fragment of a great sea-turtle's shell." Christina said, "her hair will turn back to blond and she act normal again. Are you going to pay me three silver marks or it goes on credit?"

"The usual," Beatrice said, picking up the bottle.

"I wish they would just give you the money?" Christina said leaning on the counter. "Credit always gets paid at the end of the year. And I wanted to buy Stuart's passage long before then."

"Hilda said you had an apprentice coming, surely he could help draw in more money for the shop."

"That's right," Christina said snapping her fingers, "he was suppose to be here, an hour ago. But I suppose he got lost. He seems like the brilliant sort, but rather scatterbrained."

"I'm sure it will all worked about. But I must be going." Beatrice said hurrying out the store, only to have the door swing open for her.

"Hey you!" The man exclaimed with surprised smile on his face.

Beatrice blinked realizing this was the eccentric man she ran into earlier on the street.

"Apologies Mistress McKinney," the man said to Christina.

"I told you to call me Christina." She said. "And it's about time you showed up, Henry Grubstick. I gave you a map, how did you get lost?"

"That," Henry reached into his pocket, he pulled out cards, a dog-eared book, string, and finally a clear stone. "It was inverted. I ended up going around in circles."

"Oh bother," Christina muttered, "transparent stones are so hard to work with."

"I think its glass actually," Henry mused. "Convex or concave, it's hard to tell."

"Doesn't matter." Christina turned to Beatrice. "Come again, Beatrice, we have to have a nice long chat about what your sister is doing being with a married man."

Beatrice nodded waving at Christina and her new apprentice. Hurrying down the streets she found to her dismay that it was raining. So much for heeding Justin's warning.

"Lovely," she said pulling her hood over head, knowing the material couldn't hold back all the moisture. "Couldn't it wait before I got back?"

"Rain doesn't often wait for anyone."

Beatrice looked about, expecting to see the owner of the voice lurking about around a shop, but saw no one.

"Over here."

A man's face peered out a familiar obstinate carriage.

"Oh no," Beatrice groaned aloud. "You, go away."

The prince frowned. "That's not the usual response I get."

Beatrice slapped a hand over mouth realizing she had spoken to an noble, a royal no less, so rudely. Dear Gods, she was going to lose her head or something. If she ran she would be even more disgrace to the Meade Family. Clutching her arms across her chest to hide the Meade coat of arms, Beatrice tried to look away at the ground and master the urge to flee as the carriage rolled slowly next to her.

"Would you like to get out the rain?" The carriage door opened and the held out a hand towards.

Beatrice stood up tall as if she had stepped on particularly painful spell. This was what happened to Hilda, she took shelter from rain and… and…

"No thank you!" Beatrice said loudly enough to start the shopkeeper drying his wares, and ran nearly all the way back to Meade Hall.

Furious at the prince as well as herself, Beatrice pushed her way passed the group of the usual well wishers. She heard angry cry.

"Who do you think you are?" a chillingly familiar voice called.

Beatrice froze as she turned slowly around. Before her was a woman draped elegantly in white with her servant holding umbrella over her. There was a spot of rainwater on her shoulder.

"I don't take kindly of this, I am Wilhelmina Slater and I don't get wet." With a gesture to her servant, they walked towards the main gate. "Your mistress shall hear about this. This way, Marc."

Beatrice looked up at the gloomy sky and had the odd feeling the day was just about to get worse.

* * *

A/N: As you may noticed I altered some names, because some names (ie Betty) are too modern souding for the time I wanted to emmulate in the story. So if you haven't guessed by now.

Beatrice Betty

AlexandraAlexis

Nicholas Nick Pepper

Giovanni Gio (It's his real name, I'm sure if many viewers know that or not)

Anthony Tony "Coach" Diaz


	2. In which futures are discussed

Chapter Two

"There you are!" Hilda exclaimed as Beatrice nearly knocked her down the servant's stair. "What took you so long, and you're soaking wet!"

"No time to talk." Beatrice called. "Alexandra needs this."

"Well hurry up, and change into dry clothes. Mistress Meade wants you to serve the tea. You're the responsible one."

Beatrice didn't have to run if she was just serving tea. Her mistress would take several minutes showing Mistress Slater the new features of the house. The new and expensive gas lights that were recently installed, the updated indoor plumbing, and the new hardwood floors that were resistant to magic and that the servants drew straws each month to pick how has to keep them shiny. Yes, she had just enough to make sure both Miss Alexandra and Mister Daniel were taken care of.

She handed Amanda the vial she brought from Christina, seeing that Miss Alexandra was already stirring from the induced slumber. Just in time, Beatrice realized since Amanda had already cleaned most of their young mistress's mess. But that was mostly likely a response Marc's arrival. They were close friends, Beatrice knew, but as much as she knew they liked hanging around each other, Beatrice disliked with the house of Slater met with Meade. By themselves both Amanda and Marc were equally polite and amiable towards her, but together was a different story.

Climbing once again the servants' stair she took a short detour, pulling on her cleaner set of clothes and hurried back up the stairs. Taking a deep breath and knocked on Mister Daniel's room. She wasn't worried when she didn't receive a response back and calmly opened the door. Her young master was seated on his bed nursing a half empty bottle of gin holding up a photograph. The curtains were still drawn shut making the room even darker than it should have been and there was distinctively unwashed air that filled the room. But there was good sign. The tray of food she left on his desk was empty, showing every sign of being consumed. He was starting to get his usual appetite back that was a vast improvement, now if she could only get him to wash again.

"Mister Daniel," Beatrice said cheerfully opening the blinds. Though it was dark out from the rain, he flinched backwards like a newly born dragonet. "How are feeling this morning? I see you ate your breakfast. If you are still hungry I can sneak something up from the kitchen for you to eat. My father has his hands filled with creating a meal just for Mistress Slater."

She waited watching for a reaction, and got one. Daniel jumped slightly at the name, a slight scowl crossing his face.

"That woman is here," he said slurred. "She coming here to gloat, isn't she?"

Beatrice began to turn on the gas lights. "Oh I don't think she's here to gloat about that. I beg your pardon your mother would never let you marry Sophia Reyes anyway, no matter the dowry. Her father was part of the scandal that cost your father his life years ago."

"I know," Daniel muttered, starting to sound like his old self, "you're right, you're always right."

"Not always," Beatrice said humbly, "but that's close enough."

Daniel chuckled softly as he held up the photo of Sophia. "I thought I could have a life with her Beatrice. We had so many similar interests. We wanted so many of the same things." He looked less like the womanizer he had become after his father's death, and more like the person she he knew he could be given the half chance. "She was the first woman I could see myself being with a very long time."

"How long?" Beatrice asked hoping this relationship had changed him for the better.

"A year?" Daniel said after careful thought and completely oblivious to Beatrice's exasperated expression. "Ten years? That's a very long time."

"Yes, Mister Daniel," Beatrice replied evenly. "Yes it is."

It was a start, she decided. But a very good start would be getting him out this room.

"Your mother would want you to come down to the rest of the household," Beatrice began as Daniel placed the photograph on to the nightstand, "And it would be a good way to show Mistress Slater you aren't afraid of her."

"I am not afraid of her," Daniel protested.

Beatrice raised her eyebrow conveying eloquently what her current position did not allow her to voice aloud.

"You're right, I am. But you know there are bad witches-"

"Those who use the Dark Arcana." Beatrice added.

"Those, I'm positive Wilhelmina is one of them. I bet there some burial plot behind her house, with the remains of animals skeletons or something."

"I am not," Beatrice said taking a step away from her role of servant to express her disgust, "breaking into her house again."

"It might be necessary." Daniel was on his feet pacing towards his wardrobe. "Wilhelmina is up to something. The last time she visited my mother she was plotting against our family."

She couldn't tell him he was being paranoid, so she just let him ramble on. Maybe the paranoia was a good thing; it was bringing him back to the person he was before Sophia. Hopefully though there will be less bed hopping and skirt chasing. Though it would put a damper on the servants' bets on when some girl might show up at the house with a baby in her arms.

After running a bath for him, she called to Daniel as he shaved in front of the mirror. "Do your clothes need to be pressed?"

He shook his head nearly cutting himself. "I think they're fine."

They weren't, and Beatrice ironed them anyway before heading out to the parlor room. Sheila, the head of staff handed her the tea tray, her stern expression relieving a bit.

"Just in time as always," she noted. "They're inside. Be careful of acid remarks." Shelia pressed the door open for her and Beatrice entered.

No one in the room, besides an appreciatively blond Alexandra, took notice of Beatrice as she carefully brought the tea tray in.

Mistress Meade and Mistress Slater were talking outwardly about the weather, but given the metaphors that kept being used it was just a veil for the insults they kept handing to each other.

Serve the tea, Beatrice told herself, and the quicker she can get out of danger.

She placed the tray on the table and began to pour it into the cups, making short efficient movements.

"You heard the Prince of The Eastern Isle has arrived, I suppose," Mistress Slater commented, not even registering the fact that Beatrice handed her cup of tea.

"Yes Giovanni," Mistress Meade said, taking the cup of tea, He's here to show support to some of the trading companies in the city as well as bit of soul-searching. There is also rumor of him searching for a bride."

"That is every prince's secret motivation when visiting a foreign country." Mistress Slater replied, not making a move to drink. "No wonder they're throwing him a ball."

"Good for the city though."

Beatrice had moved across the room to fix tea for Alexandra who polity scooped in a cup of sugar.

"Business mostly," Mistress Slater said firmly. "The dressmaking, the flower shops, bakeries, and of course the spell shops."

"Oh yes, people use magic to make anything look beautiful."

Standing behind Mistress Slater, Marc's eyes grew wide in horror as his hand twitched slightly to where Beatrice knew he held on to his Mistress's special potions.

Mistress Slater only smiled tightly. "And some people will use their children to keep the family life comfortable."

Beatrice saw the daggers erupt in Mistress Meade's smile.

"At least my children didn't go running off to her aunt's house."

Beatrice quickly began to gather up the tea as the women began to launch into an epic battle. But she couldn't make a quiet exit for Daniel entered the room drawing attention towards that area of the room.

"Lovely for you to join us." Mistress Meade said to her son.

"Lovely indeed," Mistress Slater echoed and Alexandra moved slightly aside on the couch to leave a space for her brother. "Though the last time I saw you, weren't you in brighter spirits? What changed?"

"I think you know," Daniel said shortly, as his mother frowned at him.

"We behave ourselves," Mistress Meade said sipping her tea. "We always treat even our most discourteous guests with respect. The House of Meade has honor."

"The same can be said for me." Mistress Slater's façade of politeness crumbled slightly, as her eyes narrowed slightly. The Meades despite the scandal surrounding the death of Master Meade, were still one of, in not the, most influential families in Moda. People respected them enough to want to be seen around the gates of their home after all. Nothing except a major tragedy could place even a stain on the Meades reputation. It was for these reasons Mistress Slater still came to call despite the bad blood between them. Power in the city came in three ways, inherited, money, and reputation, and the Meades had all three in grand amounts.

"Unfortunately," Mistress Slater said, "I have urgent business that has slipped my mind. Sorry I can't stay for dinner," she rose up smartly and without waiting for Mistress Meade's polite parting words snapped her fingers. "Marc."

He snapped to attention wrapping her cloak around her shoulders and grabbing the umbrella.

"Beatrice," Mistress Meade said with a nod to her, "Show them the way out."

Curtseying to her mistress, she opened the door politely leading Mistress Slater the way she knew very well.

Amanda, scurrying halfway down the hall carrying golden candlesticks, halted abruptly at the sight of them. Amazingly enough she didn't manage to drop a single one before Mistress Slater's cold stare.

Marc, as his mistress headed towards the door, glance at Amanda mouthing "Forget the pail."

Amanda sighed unhappily and went to go put the candlesticks back up. Beatrice grateful the nasty trick in the making was halted for another day, turned and went towards the kitchen.

"Don't put that in there!" Her father yelled at his young helper. "That'll kill the flavor. And Robert keep your eyes on the soup, you can't let it burn! No potions, Mistress Slater can tell the magically enhanced food!" He began to muttered words in the language of their home as he furiously began to stir a pot of sauce.

"Papi," Beatrice said. "You can relax. Mistress Slater won't be joining the Meades for dinner."

Her father turned, still holding a soup spoon dripping with red tomato soup, "You can't be serious, after all my hard work!"

The assorted servants who took the unlucky draw of being in the kitchen gave each other surly looks.

"Papi, your heart," Beatrice's scrambled about looking for the potion he forgot to take on purpose.

"Its fine, I'm fine," he said darkly, tossing the spoon back into the pot. "My pride's just hurt. This was going to be the meal that Mistress Slater wouldn't even think to turn her nose up to."

"You can always make it again when she stops by again, she likes imposing on Mistress Meade's hospitality. And," Beatrice said slowly, "Mistress Meade requests your flan for dessert."

A slight smile curled on her father's lips. Flan, though by nature a very simple dish, when made by her father was far the most wondrous delight to tantalize the senses, including the magically enchanted variety as well.

"Well then," her father said pulling himself straight. "We still have dinner for the Meades." He was already reaching into the icebox for the milk and cream. "And flan."

Robert, who in the process of dumping the soup, placed it back where it belonged and joined his companions in drawing straws to see who will get to leave.

"Is it for two Meades or three?" Papi asked measuring out the caramel.

"Three, Daniel is up on his feet again."

"That boy," Papi frowned as he stirred the ingredients in the bowl. "A man of his age should have more care with his life. He's eight years older than you, you're nineteen and you have more sense than him. More sense than your sister too, come to think of it."

"Hilda was sixteen when it happened-" Beatrice began.

"Doesn't excuse common sense," Papi muttered. "Have you spoken with Mistress Meade yet?"

Beatrice pulled at the sleeve of blouse. "Not yet.

"She's not going to be upset because you want to be stop to be just a servant here," Papi said oblivious to Beatrice's discomfort. "You're young, you have many talents, and you'll be able to find something you can make a living out of." He turned taking with his hands into his daughter's. "I don't want to spend your live being a nursemaid."

"I'm not a nursemaid-"

"Mija," Papi said quietly, "you must have bigger dreams than this. You're young enough that marriage isn't the only option for you. Your friend Christina-"

"I don't have any ability with magic, besides she already has a new apprentice now," Beatrice said half humble, and half disgruntled. It was upsetting moment for her, who excelled nearly at whatever she did after putting hard work into it find she didn't have gift in magic. Christina on the other found it most amusing. "I doubt there are places you call tell stories professionally."

"If there are," Papi said kissing her forehead. "You'll find them. But now, I have a dessert to prepare!"

"Papi," Beatrice said as she watched him grow agitated, this time from excitement. "Your heart-" her disproving words were cut short by the bell flying into the room. Fluttering about like a little bird it came to rest in Beatrice's open hand. Around the rim readin elegantly slated letter: the parlor room.

"Remember to stay calm," Beatrice cautioned tucking the bell into her pocket. She turned to Robert who was sullenly returning to his station. "Makes sure he stays calm."

Beatrice bustled down the hallway, taking care to more alert than usual. Though she suspected that Amanda and Marc had a trick in the works, she didn't know if it was completed or not.

Returning back to the room, she found Mistress Meade by herself idly flipping through the pages of a book.

"Ah, Beatrice," Mistress Meade said lowering her book, "I like to have some words with you."

Given the her mistress had pleasant smile on her face, and not the celebrated stern gaze she gives to those who were against her wishes, Beatrice only had slightly minor sense of fright. There was no way that Mistress Meade had heard about her consideration of leaving her post. The Meades had never treated them poorly like some family; Marc had told her less than savory tales of what happened at the House of Slater. No, the Meades were probably the best people she could ever work for, but truthfully deep down she didn't want to stay as a servant. She wanted much more, she wanted to fulfill her dreams, travel, meet new people, hear different languages and so many different things. Times were changing after all: a woman's way to success didn't have to be through marriage. It could be whatever she wanted.

All she needed to do was find the courage to go out there in the world alone. She had always lived with her family never being alone, used to taking care of them and them taking care of her. The Meades, Amanda, Nicholas, and all the other servants here were part of her family too, and she wasn't sure she wanted to part with quite just yet.

"Beatrice I have a proposition for you," Mistress Meade said with no preamble. "But first I take you have heard about Prince Giovanni?"

Beatrice nodded keep her expression still. "Yes."

"I am relatively close friends with his uncle, the Grand Duke Buca di Beppo. He mentioned earlier this year about a nephew of his he wanted to be exposed to more sights and sounds of the world. At the time I had no idea he was talking about the Prince, and offered him to treat him as well as any guests. While the Prince won't be staying with us, I have arranged for Daniel to be a companion of the sorts for him as he visits parts of the city. It goes without out saying I want my son doing something worthwhile to occupy his time." She smiled again at Beatrice, this time a nod to her for bringing Daniel back to world of the living. "I would like you to their on the occasions when the Prince is about. I trust you the most, and you have the keenest sense when things aren't as they should be."

In another mood, Beatrice would had taken note of the odds words Mistress Meade had said, but is so happened she was struggling with the idea that she was going to be serving royalty as well as watching over the Meades. But, she realized, if she preformed even beyond her usual standards, this could lead the door open to future possibilities. A good recommendation from Mistress Meade, a way to wrangle security for her family, and a way…

And way to future prospects.

"Are we in agreement Beatrice? I will talk to Shelia about shifting around your chores with the Prince is here. But I expect you to perform at your usual standards-"

"I'll do it," Beatrice said a bit too excitedly, glad that her ominous feeling about the rain had reaped nothing, "I'll be glad too." She added with a more demure tone.

And after Mistress Meade said she was dismissed she went to find Hilda and tell her of this latest development. She could feel in the air, things were going to start changing very soon.

* * *


	3. In which many things are broken

Chapter Three

"Have you decided whether or not you've made your fortune yet?" Christina asked rearranging the vials of spells on the shelf in the back room.

"Not yet." Beatrice was idly spinning an empty vial on the counter relishing her first day off in weeks. She has spent the last two weeks following both Daniel and the Prince around, both whom seemed to like her presence. And given Daniel's usual haunts for "entertainment" it was no wonder that they were both equating Beatrice's presence to being something near a nursemaid. But it was fun for the most part. Prince Giovanni was surprisingly mellow for royalty. He didn't seem to mind that Daniel actually spoke to Beatrice like a person instead of ignoring her. In fact more that once the Prince asked her to explain a particular sight as they toured the city aboard his carriage. She could see that he truly did listen to her as she rambled off about the historical purpose and rattling off names that had little importance to most people. And he even spoke little about his homeland describing a new food developed there, something called sandwiches…

"Beatrice? Did you accidently inhale the sleeping spell again?"

Beatrice snapped out of her thoughts and spun the stool to face where Christina stood on a ladder. "It's you're only day off this month. I don't want you to spend it sleeping in my shop. It's dangerous."

"It's fairly clean now," Beatrice replied, glancing about. Henry it seemed, despite all appearances to the contrary, was a compulsive cleaner. Christina's shop which was already fairly clean to begin with was nearly spotless most of the times and the lurking dust bunnies had finally been driven out of their colonies. "Why are you doing this?" she asked gesturing at the inventory list hovering next to Christina. "Isn't this the stuff an apprentice would do?"

"Henry was going to do this," Christina climbing down one rung to read a label. "But I found that this is the exact sort of job that he'll never finish. He'd read these labels, stop marking them for inventory and start seeing what new spells he can create. And I'll come in here and find half the bottles on the floor, and customers coming in here thinking I'm handing them out free."

"And some of this stuff," Beatrice grabbed a bottle reading the label reading the warning label of using it around faerie circles, "is rather dangerous."

"Which is why, it stays on the top shelf," Christina held out a hand and Beatrice passed her the bottle. "Do you know how many different spells have the same color?"

"1,012," Henry said placing a basket of fresh althaea leaves in front of Beatrice on the counter . "Common spells though, just something I know," he added with a shrug at Beatrice's surprised look.

Christina however must have heard those words before for she sighed heavily, "One of the many facts you know it appears." She climbed down the ladder to the examined the leaves. "What color is it though?" she added nonchalantly.

"Clear," Henry said hesitantly, "isn't a color though."

"I knew that," Christina said rather unconvincingly. She turned to Beatrice who forced a smile on her. "I knew that clear is the form most spells come in because," Christina's words trailed off as she riffled through the leaves, "they are easier to hide from an unknowing user."

"Like drinks," Henry supplied.

"You're thinking about potions and poisons, which are," she said before he could open his mouth, "can be the same thing depending on the intent of the spell caster. But with spells they don't have to be consumed. Beatrice," Christina said, "hand me the bottle next to your elbow."

As Christina persisted in a lecture about the various ways to hide the presence of certain spells, and the moral implications of them, Beatrice began to lose interest. She found learning about magic interesting but the logic behind it was somewhat boring, she preferred the explosions and spell effects. More than once though her eyes flickered over to Henry who was listening with rapt attention even though Beatrice was quite sure he knew everything Christina was saying. But then again Henry struck Beatrice as a person who enjoyed learning about anything, and Christina did have an extensive reputation to take creative changes to magical conventions. There was the plan shift to ball gown spell Christina was working on Beatrice recalled, turning her head to where the pooled spell waited lethargically in its tub. Perhaps it wasn't knowledge but creative inspiration was what made him become an apprentice after all. He wasn't that much older that Beatrice, far too old be an apprentice in the most conventional sense. But he did have a childlike enthusiasm about most things and his brown eyes would light up when…

The doorbell, a silver bird with a bell for it stomach, came to live and began to squawk up a storm in the tiny room.

"Beatrice can you greet the customer?" Christina said calmly pulling a cord that shut the lid over the bird's cage. She was in the middle of beginning a practical demonstration. "It's probably that man who comes to get a potion to make his food taste like cake."

Nodding, Beatrice jumped off the stool and opened the door to the main shop.

"Welcome to Christina's Charming Creations-" she began and cut short. "Nicholas!" she exclaimed with surprise. Within moments the surprised died down as she saw that he moved to slam the door shut, and duck out of sight of the window.

Taking his odd behavior in stride she said, "When I said find entertainment while I'm visiting with Christina, I didn't mean for you to start another lovers' quarrel."

"Be quiet," Nicholas hissed daring to take a peek at the window. "I'm trying to lose the guy."

Beatrice rolled her eyes. This happened once or twice a week depending on his mood. While Daniel had a natural affinity with chasing after anything skirt and never get caught, Nicholas always attracted the girls who either had lovers already or fathers with a few offensive spells they carried just in case. Nicholas hadn't gotten into much dire trouble yet, though he did break his arm last year jumping a wall to avoid some dogs.

"You should have checked to see if she had someone with her before you tried to woo her." Beatrice admonished watching him edge away from the window.

He crouched across the floor of Christina's shop looking more nervous than all the times she seen him before.

"She didn't have a lover with her," Nicholas said crawling towards the counter.

Shaking her head exasperatingly Beatrice said, "Christina has a back door if you want to use it."

"Thanks I might be able to get away from-"

The door burst open and a young man wielding a sword appeared. "You will not get away from me!"

Nicholas screamed like a girl and jumped over the counter, sending vials of spells crashing to the floor. Clouds of colorful smoke burst into air, along with piercing shrieks, wails, pink bubbles, rainbows, and electric blue kittens, all of it swirling around Beatrice. And it only grew worse as the idiot wielding the sword charged into the room, swinging the blade around smashing even more bottles.

"Why don't you stop-"

Beatrice ducked as he flung out a hand.

"Never fear dear maiden, I will protect your honor from the foul fiend!" Despite everything Beatrice stared at him wondering what language he thought he was speaking, because she didn't comprehend a single word he said.

"This man," he pointed at Nicholas shaking in the fetal position against the counter, "is threat to the innocence of womankind!"

"He is not," Beatrice said firmly.

"You've been taken in," the strange man said vaguely raising his blade, "this must be dealt with honor. May the great Kama bless and guide my blade true."

"You're going to kill him?"

The man glanced back at him, surprised one his face. "No just his honor." He pointed the blade at Nicholas. "Fiend, are you prepared to meet your fate?"

"What is going on out here-" Henry blinked at the sight before him. Beatrice watched his eyes dart from her to Nicolas cowering on the floor and finally the source of all the trouble. "You," he said slowly, "you owe me money!"

To Beatrice's surprise, the swordsman's face turned white and he turned tail running through the door.

"Get back here!" Henry jumped on the counter, nearly tripping over Nicholas. He bolted out the door running after the swordsman. "I want my money back!"

Christina hurried into the shop, and her eyes grew wide. "What happened here?"

"You had a visitor," Beatrice said grimly, "he didn't buy anything."

Christina scowled gesturing with her hand and the glass assembled itself though there was no way to restore the spells. "I do hope Henry went to get him."

Beatrice gestured at the door, "It seems like it."

"And you," Christina nudged her boot against Nicholas. "I suppose this is your fault?"

"Please don't hurt me!" Nicholas grabbed Christiana by the ankles nearly knocking her over. "I'll do anything! Clean, help make the spells, I'll even let you perform spells on me!"

"That won't be necessary," Christina said grabbing onto the counter. "I think he got hit with a paranoia spell!" she hissed to Beatrice pointing a finger at Nicholas.

Beatrice picked up one of the few bottles that weren't smashed. "Nope, he wasn't, here it is."

"Then," Christina said trying to gently pull her feet out his iron grip, "take him home so he can calm down."

"I can't leave. I'll help you clean up."

Christina half up on the counter, shook her head. "This is spell damage. The only one who can help me is Henry. Don't worry about it. Just get this big lump out of my shop."

She broke free if Nicholas's grip and jumped onto the counter tucking her limbs away from his nervous grasp.

"Isn't there something you can give him?" Beatrice asked slightly concerned.

Christina from her perch, pointed to the smog of silvery smoke lazily hovering near the top left corner of the ceiling. "It's all up there. I would get it down but it's so concentrated he might end up in a coma the rest of his life."

Vaguely understanding, Beatrice reached to pull Nicholas up. He seemed to recognize her, and only stumbled a bit as they went out to the streets.

The combination of the fresh air and the lack of spell enhanced air seemed to do him some good, and when they passed the flower shop at the corner he had even regained his swagger.

Within moments his eyes fell on a young girl running a series of errands and carrying a basket of early autumn vegetables. His typical reaction made Beatrice realized it might have just been a drop of a panic spell that had splashed onto him.

Before Nicholas could even move to go "help" the girl, Beatrice grabbed him by the elbow.

"You're supposed to by my escort."

"But," he said glancing at the girl, who was slowly going farther away, "you really don't need one. You're Beatrice, you can do anything."

"Flattery doesn't work on me," Beatrice replied tugging him by the arm. "Hilda's birthday's coming up soon, and-"

"You need help picking out something." A grin broke across Nicholas's face. "No worries. I happened to know the mind of a woman exceedingly well."

He missed Beatrice's eye roll as he began to rattle of a series of perfumes, at bargain prices but you could never tell, and other trinkets women just adored to have as a gift. Beatrice ignored him and his advice as she began to look through the vendor's wares. Her sister had no need for perfumes; Hilda had tucked away in her back on her drawer a tiny bottom that with one squirt on her wrists gave off a scent that made men literally bend to her will. But thankfully with Justin about, the bottom rarely came out anymore, except for Anthony.

Beatrice frowned recalling the married man that her sister was seeing, sometime today she was going to either have a series talk with her, or sabotage the doomed relationship. Wishing she had watched to check the time, she turned to the rack of jewelry.

"What charms are you seeking?"

"These aren't a charms Nic-" Beatrice turned and found instead of looking up she had could the meet the man eye to eye. "Dear gods, your-"

Prince Giovanni slapped a hand lightly over her mouth. "Shh, not so loud. I'm pretending to be a commoner today. Do you think it is working?"

It was good thing Beatrice couldn't speak right now, for while his disguise, a plain unadorned shirt and trousers and slightly dusty cloak was adequate, his attitude was not. The Prince stood in the street acting as he owned it and all the buildings around it. No commoner would even dream of having that attitude. She wondered vaguely how long he had been about, because it was miracle he wasn't killed in a back alley yet.

He lowered his hand from her and glanced at the rack of necklaces. "If those aren't charms, I don't know what they are. They looked rather cheaply made."

The vendor, in the process of shining up some rings, glowered at his Highness. Beatrice forced a smile and made a big show of looking interested in the necklaces. She gently rifled between them passed the jewels, and large medallions searching for something her sister might wear often.

"What are you looking for?" The Prince was back in her peripheral vision again enough to make her feel slightly uncomfortable.

"Nothing your-"

"Call me Gio," the Prince said cutting in. "Don't want to attract attention do we?"

"But," Beatrice sputtered, "that's not right, it's rude your hig- Gio."

He smiled. "Was that so hard? Just remember it's just when I pretending to be a commoner though." Before Beatrice could think of a response to that, he asked, "What are you looking for?"

"A monogram. My mother gave me one before she died," Beatrice pulled at the cord at her neck revealing a wooden B. "Hilda, my sister, never got one."

"Family heirloom or were you mommy's favorite little girl?"

"Neither, it was the first time she could afford such an expensive gift and my birthday was the closest. I was going to attend the University in Brokland, but the money all went towards-"

Beatrice blinked realizing she say things not even Christina knew to an almost complete stranger. "Nevermind," Beatrice muttered, moving away from the rack of necklaces.

"I want to know." The prince said. "I demand to know."

"Your high- Gio. Listen if you want to pretend to be a commoner you can't order people around."

"I wasn't ordering you around," he said with a laugh, "I was asking!"

Beatrice twitched slightly. It was bad enough like all royals he thought it was wonderful idea to go wondering about like a commoner. This was her day off, why did she have to deal with him?

"Bea!" Nicholas appeared from around the corner, "I found it, the perfect gift!"

As Nicholas unfurled a brightly colored scarf Hilda might just like, Beatrice couldn't help but noticed the look that crossed the Prince's face.

"How much did it cost," Beatrice said slightly worried as she felt the fine texture and material. The price for purple dye aside, this scarf was too finely made to be found off the bargain racks.

"Don't worry about it," Nicholas said. "This makes up for about," he scrunched his face up, "the seven or eight times you bailed me out of trouble."

"It was nine," Beatrice muttered, and he laughed.

"I was never good with math."

"And you aren't that respectful either." The Prince said in a dignified manner.

"Pardon," he slapped the Prince's hand familiarly. The act nearly sent Giovanni tottering over in rage. "Name's Nicholas. If you ever see someone driving the Meade carriage about it's mostly likely me." he cast an eye over the Prince looking for the telltale mark of a House that all servants wore. "Which family do you work for?"

Outrage flashed in his eyes, "I don't work for any-"

"Nicholas," Beatrice said suddenly shoving him towards a shop. "That girl winked at you!"

If it was anyone but Nicholas, he would have stared at Beatrice as if she had been hit by an insanity spell. But since it was Nicholas, without a hint of hesitation he began to flirt with the girl who had clearly shown no interest in him whatsoever.

"You have to work on pretending more," Beatrice said stonily as she went down the street. "You act too much like prince for anyone to believe you!"

"Wait," The Prince called, "I'm not done talking with you yet!"

A carriage rushed passed her, the Prince jumped out of the way running into a vendor selling pots. The resulting crash and the yells that filled the air, acted as a suitable distraction for Beatrice to make her exit.

Seeing that Nicholas was well engaged in his own problems, Beatrice decided to make one last trip towards the book lenders shop. She took a detour through one of the back alleys, and a sight made her forget about her errand planned.

"Henry?" she asked surprised at seeing the man there. "What is that?"

Christina's apprentice glanced up from the object in his hand.

"The man who owes me money."

As Beatrice drew closer she saw that "man" was a term that was used loosely given that inside the glass orb, with a few tiny holes for air, was a mouse with a tiny sword strapped to its side and that eyes looked dilated.

"You transformed him into a mouse!" Beatrice said half impressed.

"I was going to turn him into a cat, but that'll give him airs."

Beatrice muttered to herself, "and he'll want boots too."

She realized she spoke aloud when she heard a chuckle, flushing with embarrassment she was about to scramble for an explanation when Henry said:

"I was thinking the same thing, too, but a mouse is much easier than a cat. Not nearly as many people will stare, and-" he tossed the glass ball lightly and the mouse squeaked his head off. "It's easier to scare him."

"You aren't going to torture him are you?" Beatrice said. The swordsman did almost destroy Christina's shop but it seemed more on accident than on purpose.

"Of course not," Henry said peering at the orb, "I just want to scare him enough that he'll give me the money he owes me and now Mistress McKinney— he's doing it again!"

Henry threw the glass ball and spread out his arms twisted them in deep concentration.

Beatrice watched in amazement at the glass disappeared and the swordsman fell to heap on the ground. The man sputtered a few words in a different language, and Henry lunged over kicking the man's sword out of reach. "You aren't killing yourself to stop from coughing up a few coins."

"I have failed my task," the man muttered, though he made no move to rise. "There is no honorable way for me to return home now."

"Dying is not honorable!" Beatrice exclaimed, and Henry shushed her slightly.

"It's a cultural thing," he said with a frown on his face, "one I never understood quite so much."

With his words, Beatrice realized that the swordsman, though wearing typical dress found in Moda and spoke fluently, he was clearly of a different ethnicity just as she was. However he hailed not from her homeland but somewhere just as far away.

"Instead of killing yourself, you can do the next honorable thing," Henry suggested.

The swordsman looked up, "that would be?"

"Pay off your debt in a spell shop."

* * *

Beatrice returned later that evening to Meade Hall with Nicholas nursing a black eye. His bad luck had struck again, and for the tenth time Beatrice had to and bail him out. This time wasn't so bad, it just took some time to find him in the market.

She had barely headed towards her room when she heard rushing footsteps from behind her. Thinking it was Hilda, Beatrice quickly stuffed the scarf deeper into pocket only to see that it was only Amanda.

"Beatrice," Amanda said, "I need your help."

"Alexandra isn't-"

The blond girl shook her head viscously. "No, she's fine. It's me. I need your advice."

Beatrice glanced around, not sure if Amanda was addressing her or someone else.

"Me? My advice?"

"Well not really advice, but your opinion." Unabashed Amanda asked, "Do you think I'm pretty?"

Beatrice blinked. "I think you're asking the wrong person. Go ask Nicholas."

"I can't ask him, he'll see it as an invitation."

"Invitation," Beatrice jaw went slack, "you –"

"Only once," Amanda said waving a hand, "and that was because we were both a bit too drunk. It was one time thing only."

Beatrice took a moment to process this new information. And here she thought she knew practically everything that went on beneath the main house. But the bigger probelm was trying to articulate an answer to Amanda's question.

"I think—"

"You're beautiful Amanda."

Daniel's words made Amanda blush a brilliant scarlet as their young master peered down at him.

"I think," Amanda said quickly backing away, "I hear Shelia calling, there some tablecloths needing to baked, I mean bread that needs to be folded."

Daniel looked at Amanda nearly running into Eva with a puzzled look on his face. "Is it just me or did a woman just run away from me?"

Beatrice winced, hearing a crash as further down the hall. "She just remembered something."

"That reminds me," Daniel said turning to Beatrice, "I need you to do something for me."

"If it's to press your shirts, or buy flowers, Mister Daniel, I'm sorry it's still my day off. I'll do it in the morning."

"But that's why it works."

Beatrice lifted her eyebrows up indicating that she had no idea what he was talking about.

"I need you to take this to someone," He handed her letter with a spot of wax engraved with house seal marking the back.

"I am not a runner for love letters," Beatrice said firmly. She recalled all too well the last time. The young woman receiving one of them, for some reason grew irrationally jealous and sent the family geese on her on.

Hilda laughed for weeks on end whenever Beatrice flinched at the sight of feathers.

There was one thing to be said of Daniel, he was not a snob when it came to a woman's. The woman could be a commoner, a foreigner, a poor apprentice, a princess, or an heiress, and he didn't care. The same couldn't be said of many people, and Beatrice would have been proud of him if it weren't for the reason he was in the company of the women in the first place.

"It's not a woman, though I was thinking of sending you to get flowers--" Daniel added quickly at the sight of Beatrice's face, "it's for the Prince. Just information."

"About what? You're taking the Prince to the Musée de L'arc-de-ciel, at the end of the week, after Alexandra's tea party, which your mother wants you to be there because Lord Oshi doesn't discuss business, particularly his tea industry, with women and your mother wants you to make a good impression because she need to impress Lord Oshi that you're close friends with the Prince and you can't that if you're suffering from a hangover."

Daniel stared at her as she drew a breath. "You remembered all that?"

"It's all one of my duties," Beatrice said simply, "I look after you, just like Amanda looks after Alexandra. And you," she pointed a finger at him deciding it was fine to break her role as a servant since it was her day off, "are about to something you aren't supposed to."

"I'm just showing Giovanni a good time in the city. We do want him to have a good opinion of Moda don't we? My mother keeps hinting it would be best that he has the most favorable opinions towards us."

And the more favorable those opinions were to the Meades, meant only equally favorable options for her. Getting the vouch of good will to move away from her current employment was a big reason why she was spending so much time trailing after the Prince and Daniel. "When you put it that way," Beatrice sighed placing the letter into her pocket. "I'll deliver it. Before it gets too dark."

"You're the best, Beatrice," Daniel said, drawing a reluctant smile from Beatrice. "And about the flowers could you-"

His words flattered to a halt as Beatrice glared at him.

"-never mind."

Stepping out into the streets, she was very glad the Prince was staying at the old Sommers's house, for this errand wasn't going to take long at all.

She hoped.

A/N: Any guesses who the unamed swordsman is?


	4. In which an errand takes too long

Chapter Four

Beatrice hurried down the lane, eager to run her errand and return home. It was getting dark and cold as well, and though convenient, the old Sommers's place gave her the creeps.

It was more than merely the unpleasant history the Meades had with the infamous Fey Sommers, a history that is still gossiped to this day with great fervor, but in house's yard stood a tree stolen from the Velia forest that boarded Moda to the east.

The tree was never reported stolen in truth, but everyone knew it was so even though it was never confirmed. Beatrice was quite sure it was more than just a tree, that there was a wood nymph or dryad trapped within the tree, ensnarled by the late Sommers' spell. For the tree moved. Some days Beatrice would go run errands and see the tree lurking near the shade by the house, but by the time when she passed by the house again, the tree would be in the shade it's branches stretched out as if sun bathing. It would never move beyond the sundial in the front yard, not even a leaf crossing the invisible barrier. Watching the tree for so many months, Beatrice could only shiver at the thought of how powerful the spell was and wonder if it affected the house as well.

Turning the corner, she squinted up at the street sign, wondering if it was this street or the next that she turned, on. Usually she used landmarks, but it was getting dark enough that the shadows melded everything together but too bright for the streetlamps to be turned on.

The wind tugged gently at her, growing stronger as it pulled at her cloak. Her hood more than once was flung on over her face, and each time she moved to yank it back, the wind pulled even stronger.

Annoyed, Beatrice yanked the hood back down once again and glared around daring the wind to do its worst.

Then, a strong gust blew down the street, powerful enough to flinger her cloak flying over her shoulders. Startled, she struggled to pull the cloak away from her face saw something white fluttered into the wind.

Beatrice could only stared at it, being a person who didn't use profane language often, although Hilda's more colorful words ran through her mind as ran after the letter.

It was a piece of paper, she couldn't lose that!

Not when she kept together towering cakes from toppling over, kept lovebirds from fluttering away, and hundred things much worse left in her charge. Though the darkness wasn't working in her favor, the white paper glowed softly in the twilight and the wind was dying down as well. She just had to lose some of her reserved about climbing over walls, charging through bushes and running through the streets after a silly letter.

But luckily she didn't have to run so far. The current of the wind shifted and it fluttered across the street and through the window of a home.

Without thinking, Beatrice crossed the street and went to knock on the door. She didn't recognize the house, but she seemed to travel far enough from her original intent to be at the lesser end homes. If she was lucky, she'd be greeted with an owner who wouldn't be adverse for her asking to search through his or her house for a letter.

She heard footsteps and a soft crash. Someone was coming.

"What can I help you with?" the man asked pleasantly.

Beatrice didn't reply, and merely backed away her eyes wide in horror. He was covered in blood. That was the noise she heard, not a slight crash, but someone, him, committing murder.

"Oh not again," the man said with a sigh. "It's paint. I'm an artist!"

Beatrice glanced at him, unsure. It was too dark despite the light pouring from the room behind him to tell for sure.

As if seeing her hesitation, the man turned and went back into his house. He left the door open and she saw that he was carrying something preciously to the door.

"It's not done yet," he said holding the canvas up, gesturing to where there was red paint, "and the lighting doesn't help, but it's-"

"Beautiful," Beatrice said in awe and the man flushed slightly in pride.

"It's not done," he repeated, "but if you don't think I'm a mass murderer would you like to see my recent commission?"

Forgetting all about why she came here, Beatrice stepped into the tiny hall that opened into a room crammed with all sorts of art supplies. Paint fumes filled the air, only stopping from being suffocating from the open window. The carpet mostly likely was once beige but so splattered with paint that it appeared to be a mosaic of color instead of anything else it should have been. Yet despite the clutter that begged to be picked up and straightened, Beatrice's eyes were drawn to the paintings in the room. This one was clearly the commission he was speaking of, the paint still slightly wet although the image of a girl sitting on a pumpkin was both vivid and breathtaking.

Looking passed it she saw a covered easel, and with the artist busy replacing the unfinished painting, Beatrice began to tease the cloth away.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you!" Marc lunged out of nowhere, batting her hand away.

Beatrice blinked startled to see her friend here. "Why are you here?"

"Business," Marc said vaguely, pushing Beatrice towards the artist. "My mistress wants her portrait done of her, again. She always goes to the best."

The artist shrugged smiling slightly. "You really don't have to say that-"

"This little chica," Marc said loudly over him, "Is the other friend I was telling you about, Beatrice, she works for the Meades."

"And you work for Slater, their enemy," the artist said, "how does that work?"

"We're not really sure," Marc said offhandedly, "but Beatrice, this, is Clifford St. Blue."

"The famed photographer?" Beatrice said holding out her hand, pleasantly surprised. "But why are you painting?"

"After what happened a few years back with Mistress Fey Sommers, money got a little tight, and film expensive these days." He absent ran fingers through his hair glancing at the array of paintings abut the room, "That's why I'm selling my soul with all these commissions."

"And don't forget about Mistress Slater's," Marc said suddenly business like, "you are to arrive on time tomorrow."

"I always am." Clifford look slightly annoyed as Marc quickly made his exit out the backdoor. The artist glared at the door, and muttered something under his breath.

"It must be hard painting Mistress Slater," Beatrice said trying to ease the sudden tension in the air. "She is a very interesting character."

"It's not too bad," Clifford replied, "her facial expressions don't change that much."

He picked up his brush and dipped into paint turning towards the unfinished. "I forgot to ask, what was the reason you came knocking? I haven't had any commissions with the Meades lately."

"Oh!" Beatrice exclaimed remembering, "Did you see a letter fly through your window?"

Clifford lowered the brush, "it's your letter then?"

Moving away from the easel, he careful picked it up, the tip covered in green paint and slightly bent. "It fell into a can," he said apologetically, "I tried to save it."

Beatrice held it gingerly away from the drying paint. "That's alright, I'm sure it will be fine—" she lifted her eyes up from the letter spying movement from outside. It may be getting very dark but she knew that walk from miles away and new where the person was headed.

"I have to go deliver this," Beatrice said quickly, turning. "I wish I could stay longer."

"Come again." Clifford said amiably, "I want to paint you."

"I don't have the money," Beatrice too in a rush to be flattered.

"No, I mean I need you to model for a mural I'm doing, for-"

"Come to the Meade Hall one day," Beatrice said trying not to sound like she running out like she was intending to do so. She really did like Clifford, but there was something important she need to do.

"I will then, I hope that will be soon. Have a good evening."

Beatrice calmly exited the house and waited until she heard the door shut when she ran out back to the street, and grabbed her sister by the arm.

"Hilda, what are you doing out here!"

"I was about to ask you the same thing, I sent Justin to find you. And hands off," Hilda brushed her dress, "I have only two dresses, I have to look good for Anthony."

"Hilda, you can't doing this-"

"I am, Beatrice, I'm doing it. I know it's stupid, and foolish, and-" Hilda sighed pressing her hand against the amber necklace Anthony gave her. "But this is the first time since…Him. And I feel something. I'm really in love with him."

"He's married," Beatrice all but exclaimed fighting the urge to shake her much older sister. "He's has a wife-."

"They'll get divorced," Hilda muttered.

"You have Justin–"

"I am not having this conversation again Beatrice," Hilda snapped striding away, her skirts flouncing about. She wasn't going to listen, much more than the other times they had this same conversation.

"Anthony has a dog!"

The boy whose job was to light the street lamp nearly drop the rod that allowed him to complete his task.

"A dog?" Hilda was incredulous, but she didn't move any further allow Beatrice to catch up to her. "You can do better that, Beatrice."

"You can't be in love with a married man," Beatrice said firmly, "it's not right."

"And who are we," Hilda said gently to her sister. "Who are we to pick who we fall in love with? I'm young enough still to find love, do think I'm going to throw it away just because of what people will think?"

"Papi doesn't know."

"And he won't find out. I'm romantic, not crazy."

Beatrice smiled slightly, but couldn't quite condone her sister's action regardless. Hilda was getting into more trouble than it was worth to get herself entangled with Anthony. But there was nothing Beatrice could do anymore short of enlisting Christina to loan her some spells or potions. She could see that Hilda was going to do whatever she wanted, she always did, a fact that even when her sister was doing something incredibly stupid, Beatrice couldn't help but admire her so for it.

"What are you doing out here?" Hilda asked again. "Daniel sent you out with anther love letter to his conquest of the week?"

"No, I'm delivering a message to the prince. Apparently it's urgent information."

"We should go see it through then," Hilda said pulling her cloak tighter to herself. "It's getting darker and colder as well."

"You're coming?" Beatrice said pulling out the paint stained letter.

Hilda smiled slightly, "You changed my mind, for the night at least, and I want to see this Prince of yours. I'm always busy with _your _chores, so I never get to see him."

"We can always switch." Beatrice muttered, "You don't know what it like to being dragged all around the city."

"Visiting historical landmarks, stepping foot in the richest places in the city, getting to go to high end stores, no Beatrice," Hilda said sarcastically, "I don't understand why that is so tiring. But," she said kindly, "half your problem is that you take everything too seriously."

"I do not." Beatrice retorted.

"Something is always important, you must maintain proper protocol, and everything has to be by the book. Mistress Meade would give you more off days in a given month, but you refuse because it's not right!"

"So my problem is that I take rules seriously, while you think they don't mean anything?"

Hilda wheeled around to face Beatrice, clearly annoyed.

"Don't bring my –" she stopped mid-rant staring at a spot beyond Beatrice's head.

Curious, Beatrice turned to see a person, dressed in draping white robes that covered him or her from head toe, stepping into a motorcar.

"Who's that?" she whispered to Hilda as they ducked behind a large topiary bush watching the stranger.

"Someone awfully rich," Hilda said in awe. "Not even the Meades take their motorcar except when they really want to impress someone."

"It's probably better to drive about at night."

"When you can't see?" Hilda scoffed.

"When no one can see you."

Hilda snorted at the thought of anyone missing the sight of a motorcar rolling about the streets of the high end residential area.

Beatrice poked her head out the bush squinting to see where the motorcar went. "Did you see what house it came from?"

"It wasn't in front of a house." Hilda said with a frown.

"I thought so."

"We're going to follow it like we did before?"

Beatrice waved a hand at her sister's reminder at Alexander's request they followed her former admirer across the city to see if he was up to anything suspicious. They tracked him, both of them too naïve and obedient to recognize that the man was going to spend the day with his elderly parents and running business errands.

"No." She said knowing it was getting too dark and the day had been already long enough to venture out with an unwillingly accomplice. "Let's deliver this and go home."

At the end of the street they turned up towards the old Sommers house and pulled on the doorbell.

The servant that answered the door blinked at them, clearly surprised at callers this late at night. Mistaking them for grand ladies, the girl quickly let them inside and pushed them in the parlor room.

"Guests, for the Prince," she said clumsily through a thick accent. "I bring tea."

"Oh no," Beatrice protested, and Hilda made herself comfortable on the chaise, "we're messengers. Servants, just like you."

The girl smiled widely. "I bring small cakes as well."

"Servants," Beatrice pointing at the Meade house symbol on her cloak. "Just like you."

"I be right back." The girl smiling as she exited the room.

"Calm down, Beatrice," Hilda said caressing the embroidered pillows. "She clearly only knows a few words the language. Besides, A little tea won't hurt you."

"This is wrong," Beatrice muttered, but sat down as well on the lovely couch. It did feel nice to sit on the furniture instead of dusting it. But she wouldn't admit to it, not when Hilda had a slight smirk across her face.

"It doesn't look like they replaced anything does it?" Hilda said to her sister. "Just cleaned it up a bit."

Beatrice glanced at the chandeliers, the carpet, and the various furnishings that filled the room that was vaguely familiar. It still had all the markings of the late Mistress's of the house tastes, but many of the pieces were updated to reflect the current fashions.

"The scandal wasn't that long ago, but it's doubtful that anyone outside of Moda would care greatly about it."

"And," Hilda said as the servant returned with tray and highly practiced cordial phrases, "this is the only place in the city that could accommodate the Prince."

"I hear my name being mentioned."

Beatrice rose to her feet at once nearly upsetting the servant and her tray. Even Hilda rose to her feet, the courtesy and training they had taking over at once.

"What pleasure do I have for such lovely ladies in my residence?"

"Your Highness," Beatrice said with a slightly curtsey as held out the paint stained letter. "Mister Daniel has sent you a message. It's about your activities you have arranged with him tomorrow."

"Which you," the Prince said brushing his hand against hers as he took the letter, "undoubtedly disapprove of." He broke the seal, ignoring the paint stains and read, "'Same time, same place' a man of few words isn't he."

"That can't be what it says!" Beatrice exclaimed forgetting her manners reaching to grab it from him. He lifted it away from her over her head. "After all the trouble I went through!"

"Then," the Prince said gallantly, "I shall make sure that I enjoy my time greatly tomorrow for your sake." He gestured for them to sit down. "Shall you indulge me in playing the proper host? Not many people come to call even in proper hours."

"We're leaving-"

"In a few minutes," Hilda said over her sister. Hilda sat back down at took the cup from the prince's servant. She clearly was delighted to be pampered. Beatrice's well trained manners kept her from scowling at Hilda, even though the Prince was the most casual of any royal she knew. "Personally," Hilda said. "It has nothing to do with you, and everything to do with the history of this place." Hilda leaned forward in a confiding whisper. "Mistress Sommers was murdered in this house."

The Prince blinked, in a manner that proved that he had heard this piece of gossip but was all too willing to play along with Hilda's game. "I suppose it's haunted?"

"Of course." Hilda said sipping her tea.

"I did wonder why the doors keep opening and shutting. I'm the guest of a ghost!"

Hilda laughed appreciatively at the joke, but Beatrice forced a smile when he turned to her.

They shouldn't be here, taking too long on this silly errand that Daniel sent her on. She hadn't seen Papi all day and she needed to know if he took his potion, and Justin. He went to school tomorrow and she needed to make sure he did his arithmetic. And then she wanted to go to bed early since she had start the preparations for Lord Oshi's arrival at the end of this week.

Given that Hilda planned to stay up late anyway, she didn't seem to be deterred by the recollection of the duties they had to preform. Gleefully she told the Prince of the gossip that surrounded Mistress Sommer's death, but thankfully not all the important details.

Just as Beatrice was considering of making a fuss, Hilda rose to her feet suddenly.

"It that your clock?"

Hilda pointed to the ornate piece on the mantle above the fireplace, the clock's two golden hands pointing at the evening hour.

"No, it was already was here." The Prince glanced over at it. "I think it's probably possessed by the ghost too."

"It never shows the right time?" Beatrice muttered.

"You're almost right," the prince said amused, pulling out his own watch from his pocket. "And you two came at the right time."

As if on cue, the clock's hands suddenly snapped to midnight, its bell tolling through the room.

"That happens at the top of every hour and then the hands go back to proper time as if it didn't happen. Odd isn't it?"

Beatrice by now was getting slightly annoyed at his attempts to keep them longer. He was nobility after all, he the gift with conversation that all nobles developed. The question was why did he want to keep them there longer than was needed?

Yet before Beatrice could dwell on this further, Hilda announced they had to return at once, finally mentioning that they took far too long on a simple errand.

The Prince gracefully granted them leave and even escorted them to the door, all things extremely uncommon in Beatrice experience.

"You're right about him," Hilda declared as they headed back to Meade Hall, "he is different. He's lot politer that many nobles, and some of their servants too for that matter. Talks too much for me, though."

"Good for you then," Beatrice replied wearingly, glad to be finally heading home.

Several minutes later they were climbing down the stairs to their rooms. Beatrice peeked into her father's room and found him asleep in his chair, the bottle of his potion uncapped. Twisting it back on, Beatrice placed a blanket onto of him and made to shut his window.

Heading towards the room she shared with Hilda, she heard voices down the cramped hallway.

"Don't lie to me Justin! You couldn't have finished your homework. You never do without one of us reminding you."

Beatrice peeked her head in as Justin replied defensively holding up his tablet, "I did. It's all done."

Justin's room, which used to be a broom cupboard until it was converted, was too small for Beatrice to step inside to look closer but she saw the familiar handwriting on the tablet.

Justin did finish his homework. But that was very suspicious. Justin hated arithmetic, finding the subject tedious compared to his love of theater.

Hilda seemingly satisfied with his answer went down the hall to the room she shared with Beatrice, while Beatrice herself looked her young nephew in the eye.

"Who did you get to help you?" she asked as Justin replaced the tablet into his bag.

"Christina's apprentice," Justin replied, picking up one his battered plays. "I said I was looking for you, but I didn't want to find you because you'd make me do my arithmetic homework, and Henry goes and asks what I was I doing in class and before I knew it-"

"He did your homework for you," Beatrice finished reprovingly.

"He didn't write it on my slate though," Justin shrugged barely glancing up from the play. "Besides, I'm not stupid. Hilary did that with her older brother, and got caught. Henry's odd though, he actually likes arithmetic."

Beatrice smiled slightly, not just at the comment but the expression on her nephew's face. She'd have to remember to stop by the spell shop and thank Henry. He just saved her several minutes of fussing with Justin.

"Well I suppose being good with numbers is helpful with calculating spells and potions."

Justin glanced up at her, his face clearly showing his disbelief.

"Go to bed," Beatrice said plucking the play from his hands. "You don't need to stay up all night reading," she scanned the title of the book, "about people getting lost in the woods, faeries, and donkey-heads."

"And if I said it was for school?'

"I wouldn't believe you."

Beatrice went to back her room, where she found Hilda in her flowery nightgown braiding her hair before bed.

Moving to shut the window, Beatrice casually glanced at it, looking at it a bit closer when she thought she saw movement.

Something large perhaps, with a figure in white peering out towards the house as if searching for something.

Or someone.

* * *


	5. In which several things happen at once

Chapter Five

Beatrice pressed her nose against the window straining to see. The figure was moving now, but it was hard to see with the bushes blocking most of her sight.

Reaching to move the window so she could poke her head out, she was slapped lightly on the head.

"Beatrice," Hilda said, "Close the window."

"There's someone out there," Beatrice replied turning to the window once more.

"I'm sure there is," Hilda sighed her voice became somewhat mocking "I thought you were too old to think that a faerie is lurking outside to steal you from your bed and leave a changeling in your place."

When Beatrice protested, Hilda slammed the window shut and pulled the curtains.

"Go to bed, and stop worrying about shadows, weren't you the one fussing about what we have to do in the next few days?"

Although Lord Oshi arrived at the end of the week, there were several things they needed to do to prepare for his arrival. Like all nobles, Oshi had a rather large entourage, but his was larger than most since a core part of his "staff" had a status akin to a normal guest.

That meant additional rooms had to be aired out, cleaned, and linen prepared. Then there was the added factor since Oshi came from a land far east than Moda, a land in which not just the customs but the furniture as well were different. Because Oshi had been greeted in Meade Hall at least a dozen times, and Mistress Meade was so willingly to flatter and impress the man, they accommodated for not just some, but all of Lord Oshi's peculiarities.

The plan usually went that the men would usually move the heavy furniture out the rooms to the attic, the lifters picked as usual, by the draw of straws. And they would bring the the lighter foreign furniture back down to the main house into the rooms.

It was easier to discuss than to actually go about and do it, naturally, and the narrow circular stairs to the attic didn't make things easier though. But help came at hand.

"Mistress McKinney told me it was moving day," Henry said holding up the spell bottle.

"Thank goodness," Beatrice said relieved. "Last winter Galvin got stuck between the wall and the bed frame."

"This is quite an operation," he noted as Nicholas directed someone to lift and turn the bed around the corner. "I hope this gentleman is well worth all the effort."

"As long as everything else goes as plan," Beatrice murmured, as Henry opened the spell bottle.

"Hold on," Beatrice called to the men on the stairs, "he's casting the spell!"

Shelia, who was truly the one in charge of the operation, turned to watch as the blue spell floated out of the bottle moving at Henry's command.

Like a lazy fog it drifted up along the walls stretching them and broadening them, yet at the same time not affecting the rest of the house at all.

"Everyone, move," Shelia yelled. "Get it up the stairs. And don't lock Steven in the attic again!"

The bed and the others that followed were easily brought up the stairs with the spell, with no further problems than someone dropping an end of the bed on someone's foot.

"I can't thank you enough," Beatrice said to Henry as the spell faded. "Just come by again when we have to move the beds back down again."

"I don't mind," he replied, tucking the empty bottle into his cloak pockets. "Interesting things are happing at the shop."

"Interesting?" Beatrice asked wondering what spell Christina was fiddling with now since she was having problems with the rags to riches spell. "What do you mean by that?"

Henry just shrugged, unable to clearly define what he meant. "You'll have to come by and see when you can."

Beatrice was about to use the five seconds she had to inquire more when Amanda came running down the hall with an frighteningly familiar object in her hands.

"The gardener found this," Amanda said breathlessly as Beatrice stared at the music box. "He swore no one else saw it. Once I got it I knew I had to tell you, after all what happened before."

"Is it," Beatrice said hesitantly, "the right one? The one?"

Wordlessly, Amanda lifted the lid that revealed the marring hole that Mistress Meade made when she hacked off the nameplate two years ago with a blunt knife.

"Oh dear," Beatrice muttered, glancing down at the music box. Where had this emerged from? She was sure they had buried it in the woods, hoping never to see it again.

"You're acting as if you found Pandora's box," Henry said pushing his glasses up his nose as he looked at the music box. "All it is one of the older makes from the Suisse craftsman-"

"Excuse me who are you?" Amanda said snapping the box shut, looking at Henry guardedly. "This doesn't concern you. Why are you so interested in it?" Amanda glared up at Henry jabbing at the startled man a flurry of questions. "Did you bring this here? Are you trying to bring trouble to the Meades? Because I will not-"

"No Amanda," Beatrice intervened, "this is Henry, Christina's new apprentice. He casted the spell that helped with moving of the furniture."

Amanda's fierce expression faded slightly as she noted that the walls around the stairs were still slightly tinged blue. "That doesn't explain why he's still here."

"He's just leaving," Beatrice said already thinking of when she was going to manage to get rid of the troublesome music box. "Forget about the music box."

"But-" Henry began as Beatrice all but shoved him down the hall.

"Don't worry about it, it's nothing more than what we can handle."

"Beatrice!" Hilda called down the hall her arms filled with linen. "I need your help!"

"You know the way out don't you?" Henry barely nodded before Beatrice turned her attention Amanda.

"Hide it in my room. We'll deal with it later."

Amanda nodded and the two girls hurried in separated directions to their own chores.

"There you are," Hilda said surly pressing some of the folded sheets into Beatrice's arms. "What's taking you so long? I can't make these beds by myself, even if the furniture is different."

Beatrice didn't bother to explain to her sister the importance of the music box, or rather the ominous importance off it. Hilda, though present, didn't know that events that occurred in the household that revolved around the music box. But then most members of the household didn't know, barring herself, Amanda, Marc, whom Amanda tells everything too, and of course the Meades.

The box had originally arrived while they were serving tea not long after Master Meade had died two years ago. It was innocently wrapped, like a gift, and in a strange sense one could consider it to be so except for the fact that its intent was different. At the opening of it, Mistress Meade had reached at once for the liquor cabinet and for the first time not even Alexandra stopped her mother from drinking.

At the time neither Beatrice nor Amanda knew the importance of either the music box or of the sinisterly sweet music that drifted into the air when it was open. But Daniel had confided to Beatrice on the night of Fey Sommer's death that his father and came back from a trip abroad bearing gifts. A watch for Daniel, perfume for Alexandra, and music box for his wife. The thing was, Daniel had said bitterly pouring himself his own glass of wine, his father bought identical music boxes, which given that Fey sent hers flaunting the affair after Bradford's death, was a very stupid thing.

However the music box and its chilling music had an effect more than invoking emotions. Strange things began to happen. Alexandra disappeared for a length of time, making everyone believe she was dead. As a consequence Mistress Meade reverted back to her old drinking ways. The publishing companies and other business that the Meades invested in nearly bankrupt in the weeks that followed the death of Master Meade and his mistress. Daniel had a brief ill-fated love affair with an import of illegal drugs. Servants in the household began to quit, frighten by the several accidents that began occur around the estate. And Whiliamenia Slater threatened several times to secure a bulk of the Meades' primary investments, though nothing sustainable came except for deep rooted fear.

It was Amanda's idea to get the music box out the house, being more superstitious than practical. Marc was the one that suggested the hiding spot deep in the Velia forest thinking that the forest's magics would stop the music box's destructive influences. Burying the box was the first and only time the three of them worked to together, barring the small scandal with Carol that nearly got the three of them fired.

Beatrice though not particularly superstitious, was relieved to see that things went more or less back to order, although Marc left service at the Meades to a better position at Mistress Slater's. And not counting Mistress Meade's occasional drink and Daniel's recent depression due to Sophia, things were more or less normal.

Except the music box was back.

Which meant either someone saw them bury it or the box came back on its own.

She was going to have to destroy it, she decided, right away when she could find the time….

"We're done, finally," Hilda exclaimed adjusting the pillows to be in precisely the right angle. "This Lord Oshi, he's quite an odd goat isn't he? Papi hates when he comes here. Since Oshi requires that all the food be white, bland, and round- are you listening?"

"I' m sorry," Beatrice said, adjusting the curtains. "I just have a lot on my mind."

"Sure you do," her sister muttered.

"You said something?"

"No, just wanted to know if we need to change the rugs in here as well."

"Lord Oshi does have this thing for white.."

"Aunt Bea!" Justin appeared in the doorway slightly out of breath.

"Are those boys chasing after you again," Hilda said honing in on his apparent distress. "Because I will show up at to your school."

Justin made a face and turned to Beatrice holding out a piece of paper.

"Grandpa wants you to pick up a few things from the stores."

Beatrice eyebrows rose up at the "few things" that was on the list. "It looks like enough food for the entire time Lord Oshi is here."

"That was what Grandpa said."

"Does he have to send you," Hilda said with a frown, "I hate having to this with some else like Amanda."

"She's too busy eating pie," Justin piped up.

"What she's worried about?" Hilda blinked. "Nevermind," she said as Justin opened his mouth to respond, "Go do your homework or help out or something like that."

"He can come with me," Beatrice said folding the list in her pocket..

"Take your time." Hilda murmured.

Beatrice grabbed her cloak and a basket most suitable for the task. Handing it to Justin to carry she said conversationally, "So was the play worth skipping school for?"

To give him credit, Justin looked a bit sheepish, though he grinned widely.

"You don't understand Aunt Bea, the play was only here for one week. This was only showing I could make given it was getting crazy later on this week."

Beatrice sighed, knowing that once again he used logic to prove a point. "I wouldn't have done it, but I hope you didn't miss out on anything important."

The foods listed on the paper was simple, it just about everything they usually didn't buy from the market. It was lucky for her though that she knew the place tucked away in the city where one could find the most foreign of foods.

Waiting at the odd smelling counter for an order of fish to be filled, she felt a sudden tug on her sleeve.

"What is it Justin?"

Mutely, her nephew pointed out to the street filled with vendors selling handmade crafts and clothes and other enterprises.

Catching the corner of the sign that he was pointing at, Beatrice slapped him lightly on the head. "You're too young to be looking at place like that."

"No, Aunt Bea, I thought I saw Daniel pass by."

Recalling Daniel's vague descriptions of what he and the prince were up to today, she supposed she shouldn't be too surprised. It was one of the many places they couldn't go with her tagging along and willingly to report to Mistress Meade.

Daniel may be a grown man and fit to do whatever he please, but Mistress Meade was always careful about the family reputation, even though all the nobles and well-to-do, the women included, ventured out sooner or later to that particular establishment and others like it.

Nobles for some reason seem to find it thrilling.

"He has a friend with him too, the one that's over all the time," Justin said stretching his neck out. "Let's go follow them and see what they're up too."

"No," Beatrice said, as the fishmonger looked at her curiously. "Will you keep your voice down," she hissed at the eleven-year old boy. "You're making me sound like a stalker."

"Well you follow people around when you're curious about something," Justin said innocently.

The fishmonger was definitely giving Beatrice strange looks now. Before suspicion could rise anymore, she flashed the coat of arms for the Meades that was on her cloak and hurried her nephew out the store.

"Don't drop it," Beatrice said distractedly as he shifted the basket in his arms as she marked off the item on the list.

"Excuse me," a man called carrying a portion of a giant beanstalk over shoulder. Beatrice waited for the man and his burden to pass before turning down a street to the bakery. After some scrutiny and bartering the price down since the day was nearly half over, she had bought several loaves balancing them in her arms.

"Don't forget to remind me that we'll have to stop by the- Justin?" She looked around, but her nephew was nowhere to be found.

"Don't panic," she told herself, taking a breath. "Just check any amateur playhouses and puppet shows, maybe a bookstore, and the fountain he and his friends like to flip coins into. Don't think that he'll get lost and hurt and that he carrying all the groceries- oh!"

She jumped behind a stand claiming that by purchasing these boiled eggs that one would be able to hatch a goose that laid golden eggs.

Just passing by her was Daniel and the Prince, both more or less dressed to their stations, both more or less accompanied by interesting company.

Crawling on all fours, the bread squashed under her arms, Beatrice snuck under the stall and ducked around to another street.

It wouldn't do to bump into each other like that. It would lead to awkward chatter, trying to avoiding talking about what brought the men this far into the city. Not to mention for some reason running into them made her more nervous than usual.

Resolving to ignore them both, Beatrice emerged from behind a woodcarver's stall, accidently knocking over a piece to the ground.

A hand clamped onto her shoulder. "Aren't you going to pay for that?"

A fierce looking man, towered over her, enraged at the accident. His other hand pluck at the mark of the Meades on Beatrice's cloak. "And I don't take credit either."

"I-," Beatrice stammered trying to think quickly. "I can get you the money if you let me go, a commission-"

"And you'll go running off never too be seen again, I'm not stupid," he began to drag her roughly behind him deaf to Beatrice's protests. "That was very expensive piece, and I won't be shortchanged. It's off to the bailiff for you."

A sword suddenly parted the air between Beatrice and the offended woodcarver.

"Didn't your mother ever tell you it is rude not to not heed the words of a lady?"

The oddly arranged words weren't widely welcomed.

"Greetings," the strange swordsman from the day before said with a slight incline of his head. "Nice to you again," he turned to the woodcarver, "but not nice to see your dishonorable behavior."

The woodcarver, his jaw slack, released Beatrice.

The swordsman pulled Beatrice behind him, as if was defending her honor and fending off a dragon at the same time.

"I challenged you," the swordsman said whipping his blade abut in the air, "to a duel for honor."

Beatrice decided then and there that she hated whenever he used that words. He kept using it like he didn't know what it meant.

"See here lad," the woodcarver grumbled acutely aware that people were watching, "you're misinterpreting things. She just broke a commission for the Prince's Ball."

"No need to mishandle her," the swordsman declared.

The wood had to be imported for the occasion!" He said as the sword moved closer to his neck. "All the way from-"

"But it doesn't look like anything is broken."

The voice this time was rather welcomed by Beatrice.

Henry stepped nonchalantly through the quickly growing crowd surveying what used to be a pile of bits, which in turn was an elegantly intricate hourglass resting on the ground. "It looks a little chipped but none worse for wear," he said handing the wooden piece to the woodcarver. The man grabbed it, as is disbelieving of the small miracle that had occurred.

"No harm done," Henry continued in forced airy tone, grabbing the swordsman by the arm, and Beatrice too when she didn't move. "Have a good day."

As they rounded another corner to another street Henry lost his jaunty air and pressed his fingers to his temples. "Kenneth, I told you to distract him not to cause a scene."

Kenneth shrugged, tugging at the belt that held up his sword. "It worked didn't it? You people," he said strolling to where there was a barrel of herbs resting on the street, its neighbor spilled across the cobblestones. "You can't seem to tolerate when someone merely gets caught up in the moment."

Noticing something off to a distance he abandoned the barrel to enter a shop.

Beatrice blinked back her surprised and said to Henry. "Wasn't he a mouse yesterday?"

"He was," Henry admitted sheepishly. "But the damage he did to the shop was so great Mistress McKinney insisted that he work his debt off. And he is willingly to do so." He mocked the swordsman's exuberant nature, "It's a great a mission that he willing takes on and will forfeit his life he can't fulfill it."

Beatrice smiled for the first time all day, only slightly alarmed at the laughter that almost appeared.

"You seem worried," Henry acknowledged as he went to sweep the scatter herbs back into the barrel. "I'd imagine so with all the heavy furniture moving around. Speaking of which, why are you out and about?"

"Buying groceries. My father cooks, and I'm the only one he trusts to buy right things."

"Oh," he said. "You're busy then. I left message with the other girl you were talking with. I wanted to ask you about the-"

"Aunt Bea!"

Justin appeared dangling by his collar from Kenneth's hand, the swordsman's other arm holding a basket laden with the food Beatrice just bought.

"Caught him trying to sneak into the place," Kenneth said roughly placing the boy back into his feet in front of his aunt. "He wouldn't tell me why."

"I saw Marc and Mistress Slater go in through there," Justin said adjusting his cloak.

"You're not supposed to follow people around," Beatrice said although she had a half a mind to go see what Mistress Slater was up to now.

Beatrice was willingly to bet her month's pay that Mistress Slater and Marc had something to do with the music box appearing back at Meade Hall. Marc was there when they buried it after all. Not to mention he was running around last night supposedly on "errands", that lead her to believe that Marc could be somehow connected to the mysterious motorcar that was about last night. It was hard to think of a friend doing such things; however a part of her was hurt, just like Amanda, when he left the Meades for Slater.

"Why would you," Henry said glancing up at the building, reading the sign that floated above the main floor's window. "Want to sneak into a place that sticks people with needles as a form of medical treatment?"

"That's just a front," Justin said with a laugh, seemingly unaware at the looks that he was receiving from the adults. "It's a black market in there selling drugs, black magics, and—I mean I only heard about such things." He stammered that last bit as Beatrice glared at him.

"You're going home, now," she said firmly, "I can't believe your mother doesn't know what you get up to."

Anything else she wished to add vanished from Beatrice's mind as Kenneth drew his blade, nearly dumping the groceries onto the ground, proclaiming, "I will storm this building and fix these vile wrongs!"

"Any louder," Henry muttered as the people on the street stared, "and they hear you from the inside."

"Good, it will strike fear into their hearts."

"On second thought," Beatrice said tugging him towards Justin. "Can you do me a big favor and take him home. You know where Meade Hall is don't you?"

Although Kenneth professed he didn't, he declared it was his honor to fulfill a request offered by a humble lady.

Looking sullenly at his aunt, Justin allowed himself to be dragged off by the swordsman, towing the groceries and Kenneth overwhelming personality with him.

Sighing to herself, Beatrice turned to enter the building, only to remember that Henry was still there.

He was watching her, with a slightly disproving look, glancing between her and the building Justin said that was running illegal business. Before he could speak, she said:

"I'm not going inside," she said with forced casualness stepping away from the building. "I mean I have no reason to, not that whatever Mistress Slater might be up to or plotting has nothing to do with me or the Meades."

"I wasn't about to ask about that," Henry admitted, but then added with a sense of urgency, "but that music box, I was meaning to talk to you about it."

"Don't worry about," Beatrice said hoping he'll just forget all about it. She really didn't want him to get involved with could be a dangerous affair. Mistress Slater had to be up to something, she realized as Daniel's earlier paranoia about Mistress Slater's return to Meade Hall last week came hurtling back to her.

Paranoia that beneath the calm collective surface Mistress Slater was plotting against the Meades again, and this time it was worse since she had Marc to spill any secrets and weaknesses to be had.

"But you don't understand," Henry said interrupting her thoughts, "that music box has a dangerous spell on it!"

* * *


	6. In which there is a lot of sneaking

Chapter Six

"A spell?" Beatrice echoed blankly.

"Dangerous too," Henry said adjusting his glasses. "I saw a glimmer of it briefly. Most objects it's hard to detect the spell, but this was fairly old one and it asserted itself when straining too…You don't want to know all of that."

"Not now," Beatrice admitted, pressing a hand to her forehead, feeling that situation was growing worse by the second. "Dear gods, I always thought it was a spell. But it's a dangerous one too."

"How long was that music box been at the Meades?" Henry asked.

"Not long," Beatrice replied glancing around the street. "And don't worry about."

"You keep saying that," Henry replied as Beatrice twisted her head about, "but that makes me only concerned. The pell needs to be taken care of before someone get hu—Beatrice?"

Beatrice, hearing a familiar yell, from the window, moved to the door and tentatively opened it. She saw a woman sitting at receptionist desk, looking bored as she picked her nails with a quill as Marc fluttered about restlessly.

"Mistress Slater requests," Marc said looking askance at something on the desk, "that you not let anyone who represents the house of Meade in here. Your…facilities here promise customer satisfaction."

"Sure, honey," the receptionist said spreading out her fingers. "I'll make a note. Do you think this is a good color? It was a cheap spell."

"That's a horrible-" Marc shook himself. "Never mind, its fine. Just do your job."

With a sense of arrogance reserved to servants who knew he was a step higher than most, Marc went through a door to serve his mistress, passing by an open window as he did so.

An open window, that was almost directly behind the receptionist who now was pulling a small mirror out to look at herself.

Afraid of being noticed, Beatrice shut the door quickly earning an incredulous look from Henry.

"Who are you looking for?"

"Never mind that." Beatrice said quickly.

"You were going to follow whoever it is," Henry said a disapproving looking crossing his face. "You're going to do something illegal."

"Illegal!" Beatrice exclaimed wondering despite her best effort to the contrary she had been breaking a law these past few years. "Following people around is illegal?"

"Well potentially," Henry muttered, "and it mostly the other party's opinion of it, but," he added noticing that she was making to leave again. "What's more important following whoever that is, or breaking the spell on the music box?"

"Both," Beatrice declared, throwing her hands in the air. "Both are important, and none of it's your—" She stopped as something occurred to her. Beatrice was used to operating on her own. Besides the times with Amanda or Hilda, Beatrice did things on her own. She was used to be the only one with the stubbornness and will to see something through. But she couldn't even start this without a bit of help.

She knew it was unfair to call such a favor, but this was an important matter. She had to know what Whiliamenia Slater was up to, especially if it pertained to the music box. The terrible things that happened before must not be allowed to happen again. She owed it to Daniel and the other Meades.

"Can you help me out?"

Henry, wisely taken aback at this change of heart, cautiously nodded. "What is it?"

"There is a woman at a desk. Distract her as I go around."

Henry blinked once, and then twice. He saw that she was desperate for something but knew he wasn't going to get answers if he asked now. "How?" he said finally.

"You're smart," Beatrice said inordinately pleased, "you'll think of something."

Henry hesitated for a moment, and Beatrice heard a mutter, "It won't be that bad. You read the stories." And he opened the door leaving it ajar slightly.

Beatrice crept around the perimeter going to the window she saw open in the room.

Henry was awkwardly situated at the desk, a strained smile on his face as the woman spoke to him, her long fingers spread across the surface towards him.

Seeing Beatrice, he shifted slightly drawing the receptionist attention to him, and gestured with a slight shake of his head for Beatrice to hurry and go.

Beatrice didn't waste any time climbing up on a carton, and wiggling through the window frame, glad for once she was so short. If she was any taller she wouldn't have fit. Halfway through, her foot knocked over the cartoon sending a large crash.

The receptionist turned her head. Henry, in spurt of both spontaneity and desperation, awkwardly planted a long kiss on her, his free hand waving for her to hurry.

Grateful at the respite even at the great cost for him, Beatrice slid out the window, rolled onto the floor and ducked through a door. She didn't hear the slap she was expecting to hear, but instead a trilling laugh, that was given how one took it, was for good or ill for poor Henry.

The long hallway had several doors lining it, all closed, and some even locked. But given the smoke trailing out from some of them, Beatrice was sure that this wasn't the place. Mistress Slater wasn't one to use drugs, although she was addicted to the potions and spells that kept her looking young.

Beatrice wandered about the maze of hallways wondering what exactly she was looking for. Just seeing Mistress Slater compounded with the recent events made everything fall in place. However she didn't have much a plan beyond that, and one thing Beatrice hated was being without an organized plan.

She considered opening doors poking her heads inside them for Mistress Slater. But that was preposterous idea. But she wouldn't find out if Mistress Slater was up to something. Any information, no matter what it was, could give the Meades power political or socially and could help her even more on her quest on a good recommendation.

"I swear those Meades are so easy to pull the dragon hide in front of their eyes."

At the sound of the fast approaching voices, and clicking heels, Beatrice opened the first door that she could see and jumped inside shutting it quickly behind her.

"Excuse me, pardon me."

The couple in the room looked at her for a few awkward moments, shrugged and went back to what they were doing.

Oh dear gods, Beatrice murmured to herself turning away focusing her attention on the door, ignoring the sounds from behind.

"I can't believe they don't think you'll want to do something."

"Keep your voice down Marc," Mistress Slater said, "don't want everyone to know."

"But this is genius, no one will every connect you to-"

"I said be quiet." There was a slight pause. "Can you see any frown lines?"

"No, smooth as newly born unicorn."

"Good, Fabia promised this treatment would be a more natural alternate to potions. These filthy hypocrites, who look down on anyone uses them, but we all know they use them. Sometimes just go south if you stay natural."

"You should write a book with your wisdom."

"So," Mistress Slater's voice became softer, "did you find it?"

"Right where you said it would be."

"Right where Fey said it would be. Keep it hidden. I don't want anyone to see. We don't want our cover blown." Another pause, and there was soft ruffling of material, though it could have come from behind.

"You did schedule the portrait sitting for me again? The last time the artist didn't capture what I would like. If he wasn't the only willingly on such short notice…"

"I assure you," Marc said overeager as their voices began to fade. "He promises.."

Not hearing any more voices, Beatrice exited the room back into the hall and turned the corner trying to figure out which door they had went through.

But as she glanced between them Henry's words came back to her. What was more important, dispelling the music box or following Mistress Slater around? Even sneaking through here had lost its overwhelming importance. Whatever that was hidden here was removed by them already, she wasn't going to find any more than the residue illegal drugs or potions.

She did learn something valuable though. Mistress Slater was much closer to the late Mistress Sommers than she originally thought.

Feeling that she somewhat achieved something, Beatrice was about to turn back down the hall, when she felt a hand on her shoulder.

She tensed, getting ready to recall all the self-defense moves Christina had taught her when she heard a familiar voice.

"There you, Beatrice."

Beatrice glanced up at Henry, who was looking rather skittish as he glanced behind him.

"Let's go, I gave her the slip a few turns back, I threw an illusion behind me. It'll buy us some time."

"The receptionist is following you?"

Henry hesitated, "that's putting it lightly."

He winced as there was loud a crash down the hall.

"She just sent the guards after me."

Beatrice nodded thinking she'd take the time to consider all that happened much later. "We need to get out here then."

There was another loud crash as the illusion snapped.

"Through the window," Henry said quickly, throwing it up. "We can climb the pipes and go on to the roof."

"I'm not crawling across pipes." Beatrice protested as Henry crawled through the window.

"It's the only way."

"Why don't you just turn them into toads?"

"Because," Henry said as if obvious, as he stuck out his other hand, "then they'll know a wizard is here."

Beatrice with no protest left took his hand, and allowed herself to be pulled outside.

"This is ridiculous," she muttered as they scaled the side of the building with a slippery pipe and window ledges as footholds.

"Don't you like adventures stories," Henry said rather cheerfully as he clumsily as he climbed up to the side. "Just imagine you're a knight storming a castle or tossing a ring into a pit of fire."

"My people," Beatrice said taking his hand to help her onto the roof, "don't have suicidal heroes in our stories."

He laughed, and it irked her that she thought it was amusing too.

A sudden snapping of wood brought their attention.

"The guards are coming," Henry said, "and the other roofs are too far to jump to."

"Think up something," Beatrice replied spotting a box of abandoned dolls and wigs, "I'll distract them."

She reached into a box, weighed the cracked porcelain head in her hand and beamed one of the guards with a doll. The man swore as he tumbled to the ground, knocking down his companion as well.

"Good shot," Henry said as pulled an old rug from the pile of rubble at their feet.

"Going to hit the guards across the head with that?" Beatrice said, "You might hit quite a few."

"I'm not going to hit him," Henry replied. He shook the rug spreading it across the rooftop. He touched the frayed hole in it. "I hope that won't affect it that much." He muttered pulling a bottle out his pocket.

Beatrice hit another guard with wig but he shoved it aside.

"Henry," she hissed, glancing about, "do you have a plan?"

"We're flying."

"What?" Beatrice cried as he grabbed her by the arm, the rug held out in front of them. "Flying carpet's aren't-"

Henry shoved her just as the guards appeared over the edge.

She expected the sensation of falling; she expected to fall onto the streets bellow. Instead she up above in the sky skimming the crowds, on what it seemed to be a genuine flying carpet.

The guards on the roof cried out swears and one even tried to mimic their attempt, but he fell amazingly to the street below.

As they flew over rooftops, startling shoppers, Beatrice found herself staring at everything with renewed insight. It's wasn't just that everything was so small, or that children were running pointing after them. It was the most amazing experience she ever head. She never thought she would ever flying the sky.

"Be careful," Henry said placing a hand on her shoulder. "Don't want you falling do we?"

"Magic carpets are just stories," she replied with a smile. "Please don't tell me we're just falling with style."

Henry tucked the spell bottle into his pocket, brushing his hair back. "We're flying," he said, "but the spell won't last long though. I can't let you off at Meade Hall though. The guards will follow you. I don't want you or the Meades to get in trouble. Where would it be safe?"

"Probably by the forest- oh dear!"

The carpet shifted as Beatrice suddenly spread herself flat across it.

"What's wrong?"

"It's Mister Daniel and Prince Giovanni," she said, "They saw me!"

"How do you…"

"We're on a flying carpet, of course they saw!"

"It might not be them," Henry said uncertainly. "And why would you be in trouble?"

"I'm supposed to be running errands, and they might think I was following them."

Henry's eyebrows creased into slight concern, "Unless you make it a habit-"

He never had a chance to finish as Beatrice suddenly declared, rising to her feet.

"That's Mistress Alexandra!"

"Beatrice don't stand-"

Beatrice narrowed her eyes, "What is she doing?"

The carpet trembled under them, as Henry tried to Beatrice to sit back down. "The spell's fragile, we can't risk-"

"Who's she with-"

The carpet went limp and this time and they fell, through the sky, dangerously falling…

…right into a wagon full of pumpkins.

"Lovely," Beatrice muttered knowing the back of her dress and cloak was covered in it. "Pumpkins. I suppose it's the best you could come up with."

"Not magic," Henry said quietly pulling a broken half of pumpkin from off his head, as the wagon driver stared at the pair of them.

"You fell from the sky," the man stare his jaw slack.

"Apologies." Beatrice began with a hasty smile. "We can make it up-"

"Beatrice."

Daniel stood by the wagon.

Reflexively, Beatrice pushed Henry back into the pumpkins, even though she knew it wasn't going to help matters at all.

"What are you doing?"

"Pumpkin shopping. Papi wants lots of pumpkins to cook with."

Daniel gave her the look she usually gave him, the look that said that no one could possibly believe the words that were being said.

"Beatrice if you want to lie, you should practice first." The Prince said with a slight smirk, "you're delivery isn't that credible."

Daniel had unusually stern expression on his face, "Who's your friend?"

"Henry," she said, as the man emerged from underneath more pumpkins. "Mistress McKinley's new apprentice."

"The hedge witch?" Daniel asked his expression lightening up, "I heard she got herself some help."

Beatrice nodded, even though there term was just about wrong.

"He's a witch?" The Prince asked, greatly amused.

"Actually the proper term is warlock," Henry corrected as he stumbled out the pumpkin laden wagon, "but I prefer wizard."

He held out a hand to Giovanni who ignored it.

"You know Mister Daniel," Beatrice said to Henry. Her young master nodded at Henry, he seemed somewhat more approving once he was insured the man's identity. "and this is highness Prince Giovanni."

Henry blinked startled at the royal's somewhat humble appearance. And hastily brushed the pumpkin off of him.

"I prefer Gio, the maker of fine sandwiches." The Prince replied amused at Henry's sudden discomfort. "Where did you the flying carpet?"

"A little spell, goes long way."

"How well can you perform magic?" Daniel asked suddenly.

They all turned to look at him. "I mean I have proposition for you Henry," Daniel added, "maybe you can help me out with something."

Though skeptical, Henry went with Daniel to discuss matters that Beatrice would have likely followed hoping for a chance to causally eavesdrop if it weren't for that fact…

"Who's going to pay?" the wagon driver was looking rather surly as he glared at Beatrice. All that was left in the cart intact was long pumpkin rather on the stumpy side. "You wrecked my entire ware. Do you know how much gold I could have gotten?"

"I'll pay for it," the Prince said reaching into a pocket. "How much gold do you want?"

"You shouldn't-" Beatrice protested.

"I will," he said hanging over the gold to the wagon driver. "Unless you were up there trying to avoid me."

"I wasn't-"

"Good."

The Prince reached into the wagon and pulled out the lone pumpkin left in the wagon. The wagon driver sniffed loudly and went off along the street.

"This is yours," the prince said placing the pumpkin into her hands, "as well as this." He held up a card greatly embellished and nearly pristine. "It's not a perfect official copy, but it's the only one at hand. I like to personally invite you to the Ball. You're bound to be there anyway in service to the Meades," he added as Beatrice stared down at the slightly bent edges. "But you should have fun while you're there; by the gods you need it too."

He glanced at her in an uncomfortable way, uncomfortable because it seemed like he could see truths that she was intent on hiding from even herself.

"If you can't call me Gio," the Prince said, "starting calling me Giovanni then. Even if your don't say it I know you refer to me as 'the prince' or 'his highness'. I suppose that's because you never have fun."

His taunt awoke her from her slightly shocked state. "I do have fun," Beatrice retorted sliding the invitation in to her pocket. "I was just on a flying carpet."

"That's just excitement," Giovanni said with a wave of his hand. "Fun is something different."

"I'm a servant," Beatrice replied, "I don't have opportunities like yourself to have fun. I have a job to do. I'm busy."

"Anyone can make time, Beatrice." He said with a laugh, "You just have to find it. Or do as I do; ask myself when was the last time I did anything for myself. Usually I make myself a sandwich, salami and sun dried tomatoes. Just four tomatoes or it will over power the flavor."

"There you go again," Beatrice muttered, "sandwiches, we don't have those here."

"Then," Giovanni said, "You must allow me to make one for you. Sometime this week, Daniel will probably be back at my residence, I'll just tell him to bring you along. Ah, they're coming back."

"I will think about it Mister Meade," Henry said again to Daniel, "but I have to go back to the shop. I've been gone far too long. Beatrice," he added to her, "the little problem?"

Remembering the music box she quickly said, "I'll visit the shop, see what can be done."

He nodded to her and awkwardly said goodbye to the prince, stumbling over proper etiquette before disappearing into the streets.

"Beatrice," Daniel said, "We're headed in a different direction. If my mother asks…"

"I haven't seen you," Beatrice said in practiced voice.

"Thanks," he said as the men turned.

"But Daniel-"

They were gone, vanished through the crowds.

"-do you know who Alexandra is with?" Beatrice finished quietly.

Flicking off the pumpkin on her sleeve, she turned the corner and nearly bumped into something.

"That's Anthony," Beatrice whispered to herself watching the married man her sister was involved with pass by. His unknowingly wife had her arm hooked through his arm. Happily and blissfully unaware of the shame her marriage is becoming.

Anthony looked no less ready to end the marriage with his wife as he bought several trinkets and jewels for her. Whether it was shower of guilt or affection, Beatrice didn't know. She was just glad Hilda wasn't with her.

Thinking once again of another man who cheated on his wife, Beatrice thought once again of the music box, and wondered briefly if all her troubles could have revolved around the affairs of the heart. Life would be so much easier if it was like that.

* * *

A/N : Sorry for the delay, I've been out of town recently. I also like to thank the people who have reviewed so far. Thanks for all your lovely comments!


	7. In which there are several explosions

Chapter Seven

"Where did you get the pumpkin from?" Was the first unnecessary thing Hilda said. The second was, "what took you so long?"

"It's a long story." Beatrice said wearily plopping the vegetable on to her nightstand. She pulled off her cloak and quickly changed into a clean non pumpkin stained dress, even if it was more frayed. Smelling less live ripe vegetables she began to search her room for the music box.

"Papi was looking for you."

"Didn't Justin give him the basket?"

Hilda finished off the stitch in the cloth in her hands. "That's the problem; he said you missed something important. Vinegar or something like that. "

Beatrice ducked under her bed.

"I can go back out."

"You're fine with that?" Beatrice could already picture the expression that was on her sister's face. Hilda had it just about any time her opinion was different about what was to be done.

"Of course I am, I have to run a quick chore."

Beatrice slid back out and smacked the spider that was crawling out. " Have you seen Amanda lately?"

"No." Hilda put down her mending to look at Beatrice oddly. "Should I have?"

Beatrice shook her head, putting on her best innocent shrug. "Not at all."

Hilda crossed her arms, giving her an oddly stern look, "Beatrice you're an awful liar."

"Seems like everyone wants to mention that today."

Hilda looked at her surprised and Beatrice said hastily, "Are you sure you haven't seen Amanda?"

"Was she doing something for you earlier or you need a favor."

Beatrice nervously opened and shut her nightstand drawers. "You don't need to worry about it."

"You always say that when something's wrong," Hilda exclaimed, "what going on?"

"Nothing."

Hilda rolled her eyes, "fine don't tell me, but when you finally need my help, I might not-"

"Aunt Bea," Justin appeared at the doorway.

"Not now Justin," Hilda snapped glowering at her sister. "

"I found this in my room, it wasn't there before."

Beatrice nearly tripped over her bed trying to cross the room to grab the music box out his hands.

"What are you doing with this?

She didn't bother letting him answer as she placed the music box back in her basket.

"Where are you going?" Hilda asked.

"I going to give this pumpkin to Christina," Beatrice said, grabbing the orange vegetable as well as she darted out the room.

"I thought you had an errand to run," Hilda called, "Beatrice!"

But she already long gone turning about the hallways, praying to all the little gods that didn't run into Mistress Meade. She grabbed an empty basket placed her burdens inside and hurried once more out into the streets. She barely got passed the stables, when she heard sobbing.

Pausing, Beatrice stopped looking behind a bush and found Amanda balled up on the ground clutching a letter close to her heart.

Given it was a letter and the ones that usually came in unnconveitntal methods, Beatrice would had asumemd the blond girl had once again found another one of Daniel's frequent love letters, either addressed to or from him. But as Amanda looked up tears streaking down her face, Beatrice realized it wasn't something trivial as a love letter.

Thinking towards the music box again, she placed aside that worry for another. "What's wrong?" she asked Amanda.

"My parents died," she whispered, "it was accident, there carriage overturn from a visit to a sick friend. The person executing their affairs sent me a letter about the will. I'm not in it." Her eyes filled up once more with tears, "because I'm not their daughter! I was an raised by them as a favor to. They never told me," she whispered, "after all these years. They lied to me." The storm of tears resumed again, and Beatrice placed a hand on her shoulder.

"They loved you," she said recalling the time during the holidays when Amanda would hurry to spend her precious half-day off with her parents. "You can never say they didn't."

"But they never told me the truth, not once," Amanda said, studying the paper. "I'm all alone, Beatrice."

"No you're not," Beatrice said slightly alarmed, remembering the other's woman's behavior with Marc left the household. "They are lots of people here who care for you."

Amanda sniffed. "You don't have to lie, that's not true. Daniel doesn't even notice me."

Beatrice forgot about the worries about music box, and took in this information. She had an inkling Amanda had eyes for their Mistress's son, but in such a vulnerable state, Amanda just revealed how deeply the seemingly shallow affection was.

And it disturbed Beatrice slightly because it could only mean further trouble.

"I would stay longer but, I have errands to run, because of Lord Oshi…"

Amanda nodded distractedly rubbing her face and the dirt of her clothes. "I suppose I best go inside and help."

Beatrice looked after her friend worriedly, "You shouldn't-"

"You aren't the only strong one, Beatrice," Amanda said softly as she returned back to the house.

Beatrice had no doubt that girl would probably shed a few more tears, but she'll have to check up on her later.

Picking up the basket once more hurried on with an urgency only one with a sense of being followed had. In her case was the great potential of dark magic the music box contained, a magic that may or may not had already affected Meade hall, or worse her family directly. She could not afford in both personal and professional outlooks to have either harmed, for it was terrible before when Master Meade had passed and she hated to see a repeat of it once again.

Turning the corner, she entered Christina's shop only to find her busy with a customer. Her friend waved her in, gesturing to go to the backroom where the half finished spell sat bubbling in a corner and at the table Henry sat glumly picking relabeling all the vials potions, a clear punishment for his disappearance earlier today.

He looked up at her entrance.

"Beatrice-"

"I brought the music box." Hastily dumped the pumpkin onto the table and placed the music box next to it. "Can you do anything about it?"

He carefully placed the spell bottle onto the table and surveyed the music box. "I may be able to it. It all depends on the signature." He began to murmur to himself turning the box over bringing his eye close to every crack in the wood. "Can you hand me the scope next to you?" he asked.

Beatrice studied the worktable, and handed him a round glass object. Henry placed it above the music box and slowly began to turn it in a counter clockwise direction. He looked at it intently with a look of seriousness Beatrice would have never thought to see across his face. Whatever spell that had enchanted the box was indeed a dark magic more dangerous than she originally feared. With a chill down her spin, Beatrice glanced at the vials of spells and potions wondering if they might some form of protection from whatever ill the box possessed.

"I think I found the signature." He exclaimed.

Her curiosity helping to temper the fear welling up in her she asked, "What is that?"

"It's the centerpiece, keystone if you will, of the enchantment." Absently, Henry opened a vial and sprinkled the orange powder onto his hands. "By undoing the signature, it unravels the enchantment, releasing the power that has bound it. Only enchanted items have this complex note, but I'm afraid that makes them even more dangerous."

"What kind of spell," she asked as Henry opened the lid once again placing a finger on the interior wood.

"A reverse karma spell," he muttered narrowing his eyes. "Take a step back."

"Henry, why don't we wait for Christina-"

"Two steps step back will be a safer," he said calmly. As if aware of the sudden worry inside her, Henry smiled faintly. "I haven't done this before, but my theory has always worked."

Taking an empty vial with his other hand, he began to murmur the words of an enchantment. The lights in the room flickered for a moment as an unnatural light surrounded the music box.

The music box glowed brighter and brighter, to a point Beatrice was certain she was seeing things when the disturbing sinister tune of the music box began to fill her ears. She clapped her hands over ears to avert the sound, but couldn't tear her eyes away from Henry. Her eyes widening and she bit back a scream as a creature was growing out of the box. It's head and torso looming about, its mouth was stretched in rage and its claws directed towards Henry's neck.

Too intent on his spell, the wizard didn't seem to notice the looming death above him.

She tried to warn him, but her words were torn out her mouth, lost in the winds that began to swirl around the room. She had to do something she just couldn't stand there and watch-

"Henry, Mistress McKinley says to, leaping goblins!" Kenneth's timely interruption had broken the creature's concentration as it turned it spiny neck toward the swordsman. With those precious few seconds, Henry finished the incantation and the dark creature and the music box exploded into wisps of magic.

The force rocketed across the room, magic pelting about striking the vials all around. She heard the door slam shut as Kenneth fled the swirling magics. Beatrice scrambled under the table bumping into Henry. Rubbing her head she peered about waiting for the storm to cease.

"I told you it would be fine," Henry said pressing a handkerchief to his hand. "You worry too much."

Frowning slightly, Beatrice took the cloth and began to tie it firmly over the wound. "It very stupid and dangerous," she bristled, yanking the cloth with a ferocity that made him wince. "But thank you. If you hadn't said anything the spell might just had gone on to haunt not just the Meades but anyone else who had stumbled upon it."

Henry gently took this wounded hand from her, smiling softly. "Your welcome."

They remained there for a moment gazing across at each other from under the table, while the magics zoomed harmlessly around. It was moment that was neither comfortable nor awkward, surprising since they were not the sort to conduct business under a table.

"Beatrice," he said in a tone she hadn't heard before, "would you-"

"Mistress McKinney is going to turn you into a frog."

They both hit their heads on the table at Kenneth's untimely interruption.

"She'll do no such-" Henry's angry retort faded from his lips as he surfaced above the table. Beatrice too followed and was similar shocked.

"My word," she murmured rising to her feet. Not only was the workroom a splatter of rainbow of colors with odd colored plants growing from the ceiling and cracks in the wall, there a large and round carriage taking up a great deal of space.

"It's orange," Henry said blankly. "A bright orange, just like-"

"A pumpkin," Kenneth sniggered. The apprentice wizard looked unkindly at the swordsman as he continued, "too bad it's hollow, imagine all the pies we could have made."

"How are you going to get it out of here?" Beatrice said avoiding the clump of moving brick next to her foot.

"Miniaturizing spells," Henry muttered look at the mess in the spell damaged room, "but that'll be easier than this. Nearly all the vials were smashed. We still hadn't recovered from the disaster from before."

Kenneth whistled slightly ignoring the barb directed at him. He strolled about the room as Beatrice picked up her basket that now had four moving spindly legs.

Henry glanced at it with a worried expression, "I'll fix it right away."

"Don't bother, it'll make shopping much easier."

"Take a look at this!"

Kenneth was by the uncompleted spell that Christina had been working on long before Henry had arrived. The cauldron's contents were bubbling at an alarming rate.

Henry paled slightly as took in the new ice blue color the spell was endowed with. Beatrice felt the same rush of fears. Who knew what the rain of spells could have done to affect it?

"She's going to kill me," Henry whispered, "she wouldn't even let me mess with it since she was going to it patented at the next Witches and Wizards Alliance convention."

"You don't even know what the spell does." Kenneth scoffed looking around the floor for something.

"That's not the point." Henry ran a distracted hand through his hair, worried and the prospects. "We just disturbed a very sensitive spell. Mistress McKinley will dismiss me for sure. I need this apprenticeship. I need to learn something to help my mother- what are you doing?"

Kenneth had grabbed one of Beatrice's shoes, knocking her nearly off balance. Swaying she grabbed onto Henry's shoulder, stopping him from moving over to where Kenneth stood by the cauldron.

"You don't mess with things you don't-"

"I'm not a wizard," Kenneth said shrugging. He dangled Beatrice's shoe over the bubbling cauldron with the tip of his sword. "I'm curious."

He didn't give Henry enough to protest further and dipped the shoe into the spell.

Beatrice shut her eyes anticipating another large explosion. But instead all there was a bright light.

She opened her eyes as she heard Henry let out a cry of surprise.

At the end of Kenneth's sword wasn't Beatrice old beaten up boot, but a gleaming glass slipper.

Christina's rags to riches spell worked.

* * *

A/N: Sorry for the long hiatus! A few unexpected things had come up, but the story will move forward. I think this chapter was shorter than usual, but this was the best place to stop.

Thanks once again to all those who've read and reviewed!


	8. In which annoucements are made

Chapter Eight

"Let me get this straight," Christina said as she glanced from Beatrice to Kenneth and finally to Henry. "I'm not quite sure I understand how that the utter loss of several valuable spells and potions is insignificant because of a bleeding glass boot!"

"Glass slipper," Kenneth corrected earning a deathly glare from the witch. The swordsman backed away hiding behind Beatrice.

"I've barely have enough to cover the damage from the last accident, and do you think the guild's going to let this go quickly." Christina glowered at Henry. "I trusted you! I even let you tinker with your own spells when I had naught for you to do. You just-"

"It was an accident," Beatrice cut in, distressed at what she inadvertently caused. "He was just-"

"Experimenting with a dangerous spell," Henry said quickly, "I should have known better."

As this was the point Christina was about to make, she only nodded grimly, her anger dissipating to a more reasonable level. "If something happens like this again, I'll have to revoke your apprenticeship," she said sternly. "No more magic." Henry's mouth fell open in alarm. "I don't care," she added as he opened with mouth to protest, "why or the reason behind it. You aren't allowed to do any magic without my supervision. It should have been like that from the start. Think carefully about it too, you can't stay in Moda without my patronship." Before he or Beatrice could protest further, Christina pointed to the door. "There are customers out there, go deal with them. And Kenneth-"

The swordsman peered around Beatrice's shoulder cowering at the light in Christina's eyes. "I still haven't got the cuttings from the harefoot bush."

"I don't want to go into the forest-"

A bolt of lightning barely missed striking the man, and the Henry dragged the swordsman out the room before Christina could do further damage.

The door swinging shut behind the two men, Christina placed a hand over her face as she braced herself against the wall, losing all composure.

"Why now?" She whispered betraying a sudden fear.

"You're the best witch in Moda," Beatrice said consolingly swallowing her guilt. "The Guild wouldn't run you out. Everyone always says wonderful things about your spells. If it gets bad Mistress Meade could help you out."

Christina laughed hoarsely. "Formidable as your mistress is, she can't help me out of this."

"What's wrong?"

Christina lowered her hand, revealing eyes that were dry not from the lack of emotion but from the lack of moisture left to put out. "Stuart's sick. He's dying, Beatrice," she continued at her young friend stared, "I received the letter this morning. The healers don't know what's wrong with him." Her voice caught. "The date was nearly a month ago. He could be dead for all I know."

Beatrice was at a loss of what to do. First Amanda, now Christina both bearing equally bad news. It couldn't be the music's box doing, she told herself as she comforted her friend. The music box just arrived to Meade Hall this morning.

Yet the box had appeared years before, and though she thought it was safely buried in the woods, perhaps it was always closer than she thought it was. A chill took her thinking of all those interlinked with Meade hall that might be subjected to the dark enchantments. But Henry had just destroyed the magics, surely its vile effects were gone now?

Magic was not Beatrice's forte, and she couldn't very well ask Christina how long a spell's effects remained. Not now, maybe later perhaps. But she didn't have the leisure of time.

She would ask Henry, but the look on his face when Christina delivered her punishment made her reluctant. Beatrice had asked him to this favor for her, something that nearly spun out of control for both of them. She had forgotten that he wasn't from around here, and that there were several laws that bounded him not only to his apprenticeship but allowed him to stay in Moda as well. And magic was important to him just as much as stories were important to Beatrice. It was her fault that his freedom to do magic at whim was abruptly taken away.

So, Beatrice didn't say anything as she quietly reassured Christina that everything will be alright and that she'll help draft a letter to send since sending a telegram would be too expensive. With a promise to return after Alexandra's tea for Lord Oshi, Beatrice picked up her many legged basket and returned back to Meade Hall with disheartened spirits.

She thought destroying the music box would solve everything but all it did was unearth more problems. Entering the manor she willingly tossed aside her worries and threw herself fully into the preparations.

During the next few days Beatrice ran about, airing out rooms, cleaning, doing laundry, doing grocery runs for Papi, barely managing to rest or remind Justin to do his homework. Hilda was similarly throwing herself into the work as well, the disquiet in her face alarming Beatrice but there was never any time to give the words of comfort she knew her sister needed. Meade Hall was like a bee hive running around trying to cultivate the honey, with not enough communication going around supporting it.

One the day where all their efforts would come to fruits, Beatrice was stretching to dust another portrait of the Meades' when she heard something that nearly made her fall off the stool.

"Mistress Slater is coming to the tea!" she exclaimed, grabbing hold onto the protruding oil lamp. "Why didn't-"

"We were just told this morning," Amanda said, as she rearranged the tablecloth in her arms. "Lucky for us, her taste doesn't differ much from Lord Oshi's."

"Why would she come?" Beatrice whispered. The late Mistress Sommers was a friend of Lord Oshi, and the former was close friends with Mistress Slater. Did she know Lord Oshi at all or was this another ploy to make Mistress Meade look bad in society?

Once again she thought of Daniel insisting that Mistress Slater was out to get them all, and once again she didn't put them aside.

Surely with all the important guests Beatrice might be required to serve tea and generally hover about invisible.

At least she hoped.

"I need you to do something for me."

Beatrice truly lost her balance when Amanda, startled, bumped into the chair she was standing on. Beatrice flew into the air only to be half caught in the arms by her young master.

"You must be careful," Daniel said with a slight chuckle, as a flustered Beatrice stepped away from him.

"What's the favor," she asked crisply brushing back her hair, "I don't have time to run love letters to women."

"Simple," Daniel said, "come with me."

He didn't offer any more explanation other than that, which was a very bad sign in Beatrice's opinion. He had to be at Alexandra's tea party, so there wasn't a chance he was about to disappear for good period of time.

So she followed if a bit hesitantly wondering what was on Daniel's mind. It could be no worse when than when they went to "rescue" a young lady for her parents' confinement. Beatrice frowned slightly at the memory of when said young lady got drunk enough she attempted to bite Beatrice's hand off.

There were quick footsteps behind them, and Beatrice wasn't surprised to see that Amanda was right behind them, her face alight with curiosity.

"I was looking for a watch." He began leading them towards the cellar. "A different one," he added before Beatrice could point out the one of his wrist. "The one Oshi gave me a few years ago. I looked about in my room," Beatrice rolled her eyes at the idea Daniel would be able to find anything in there, "than remembered I went down here with Petra the other day." His words trailed on in fond remembrance. Amanda and Beatrice exchanged glances and they let their boss have his few seconds while Amanda tugged Beatrice urgently.

"I know we're going," she whispered as Daniel spoke of a topic that was rather inconsequential. "I haven't been back here in ages."

"Back where?"

"You don't know?" Amanda said her eyes widening in surprise. "I thought everyone knew!"

Amanda," Beatrice said firmly, annoyed to be kept out the loop. "What's going on?"

"A few years back Marc and I found a secret room down in the cellar," she said as Daniel ran his fingers along the grooves in the wall. "It looks really old too, might have built with house too. It's big and has so many things that I still find things hidden in the nooks and crannies."

"Who else, besides Marc," Beatrice, "knows about it?"

"Your sister, Nicholas, Marney, and just about half the sister."

Beatrice grumbled, "Out the loop again, like always."

"Don't feel bad, Meade Hall has many secrets."

Daniel pressed the right panel, and the wall slung outwards revealing a room that had so many things going on inside that it was hard to pinpoint with one single description. There antique paintings, old fashion furniture, rugs, books crammed in a bookshelves, dusty spells and potions and many more wonderful things.

"I found this. I thought it might look good in the greeting room."

In his hands, Daniel held up a telescope, a prize that his father had brought many years back from the Eastern lands, near the homeland of Lord Oshi. "Think this will impress him?"

Beatrice nodded slowly, wondering why her young master brought them down here.

"There are other pieces down here too. My mother might want them upstairs as well." Following his gesturing to follow him, Beatrice went through the back of the crowded room and ran into herself.

She blinked and realized once she saw Amanda smoothing down her hair behind her, that they were looking at one of the largest mirrors that she had ever seen. The frame was fairly ornate with spirals that didn't seem to resemble anything of particular sort, not flower or anything recognizable.

"That's not it," Daniel said over his shoulder, "that's for the Ball later on. But this." He held up some antique lamps for them to view. "These are coming upstairs."

Loaded down with lamps and numerous other things that made Shelia fret about their sudden appearance, Beatrice and Amanda disposed their burdens in a locked hall closet just in time to hear the busy buzz of the servants suddenly go to a standstill.

"He's here!" Amanda mouthed to Beatrice as they hurried towards a window. Discreetly staring from the curtains they not only saw the esteemed foreign noble, but Mistress Slater as well.

"She arrived on purpose," Beatrice muttered, watching as the noble lady descended from her carriage just as Lord Oshi and his party stepped onto the sidewalk. With a sweep of graceful fabric Mistress Slater quickly engaged Lord Oshi in conversation, clearly using the words of eloquence of the noble's native tongue judging by how quick he was to respond.

Beatrice winced slightly. Mistress Meade while, well versed in a number of things, had yet to manage all the languages from lands far away from Moda. That Mistress Slater could, might just play an impact on the informal gathering. Watching them slowly make their way to the house, she thought briefly of trying to summon Kenneth, he spoke a language similar to Lord Oshi, perhaps he could act as an interpreter fro Mistress Meade…

But contacting Kenneth, meant running over to Christina's shop with a high chance of meeting a Henry who would not be to please to help Beatrice out again.

Amanda growing concerned at the sight of Beatrice's face was about to ask what was bothering her when Shelia called.

"Beatrice, the Mistress wants you right away. I hope you're presentable."

Amanda and Beatrice both looked down at Beatrice's clothing. With a slight sigh, Amanda quickly untied her apron, switching for Beatrice's and switched shoes as well.

"Go on, and tell me everything that happened. All the details."

Beatrice knew the moment that she stepped foot into the parlor room that there would be much gossip to later to confide in with Amanda later on. The foremost was the fact that Marc wasn't present in the shadow behind Mistress Slater's shoulder. That was disturbing and disappointing at the same time. She had hoped to exchange looks of boredom with the man as they stood purposely unnoticed by their employers.

Wheeling in the tray of tea that held both local and exotic variants, she followed Mistress Meade's minute nods at who to serve while Alexandra walked over to the piano.

Because Amanda was busy with other chores, Miss Alexandra wasn't as beautifully put together as usual. Though her blond hair was in a gentle sweep as usual, a wisp of hair dangled almost nervously as she arched her hands over the grand instrument.

"This is an old tune, popular a few decades ago," she said composedly to Lord Oshi, the man nodded with a wave of his hand, "Nocturne in B-flat minor."

She began to play underscoring the gentle talk all around. Mistress Meade entertained Lord Oshi with news from around Moda along with mentioning some contemporaries that they knew. Beatrice only recognized a few of the names, but listened carefully, because Mistress Slater was paying the upmost attention to them.

Serving the last of the tea to a solemn face man in Lord Oshi's party, Beatrice went by to tea tray, realizing that there was still one extra cup left, not including the one reserved for Miss Alexandra. Seeing the slight stiffness in Mistress Meade's neck, Beatrice knew the reason even before she thought to glance about the room again.

Daniel was late.

And she just saw him too. Where did he go off now, he knew how important this was. This was not only the first party Alexandra hosted and crafted from the very start, but Mistress Meade had hinted at a very important announcement to be made.

He couldn't have vanished could he-

Alexandra's music was cut short as the door opened.

"Daniel," Mistress Slater announced as Beatrice's young master attempted to enter the room slightly inconspicuous. "What a pleasure to see you, and your companion, he doesn't happen to be-"

"His Royal Highness, Prince Giovanni Rossi," Daniel managed to say smoothly despite the controlled glared his mother gave him.

Lord Oshi rose to his feet, bowing generously to young prince, giving his greeting.

Giovanni nodded his head slightly and took a seat in a chair not far from where Beatrice stood.

Remembering the invitation and the unnaturally friendly way the royal acted towards her, Beatrice was very glad that because of the setting they couldn't exchange any words beyond if wanted a cube of sugar or two.

Though he did murmured he always liked sweet things in life, she wasn't like Amanda to think up any implications from such light words. Giving Daniel the cup reserved for his sister, her attention was distracted as Mistress Meade quietly interrupted Alexandra before she could perform another piece.

"I have an announcement to make," Mistress Meade said rising to her feet, a small smile on her face, "I have made a decision a few weeks ago, deciding of the future of the Meade family." Not far away Daniel sat up suddenly greatly interested in what was going on. Alexandra froze by the piano, her schooled face unable to hide the sudden tension in her hands.

"I confess I was unwilling to take a less active role in overseeing the household, but the matters of my late husband's will were never officially cleared, and I liked to be busy. As much as I hate to admit, my children," she smiled both to Daniel and Alexandra, "aren't children anymore and I need to stop treating them like ones. I decided you should be the first to hear," she said to Lord Oshi who appeared both impressed and interested, "for our family has had a long acquaintance with yours." Addressing the group as a whole she declared, "At the start of the new year I'll return to my maternal home, leaving the Meade Estate in the capable hands of my-"

Beatrice glanced between the two Meade siblings, sensing at this moment something very pivotal was about to happen, and there will be no turning back or retracting words. That whoever was in charge of the estate-

"-charming daughter, Alexandra."

Lord Oshi began to clap politely, his party following his lead. Mistress Slater looked rather delighted, and even Giovanni gave polite congratulations to the smiling young woman. But as Mistress Meade began to embrace her daughter, there was one person that wasn't happy.

Daniel was scowling fiercely almost as if a prize in reach was suddenly torn from his reaching fingertips.

Beatrice sighed and busied herself with the tea tray.

She had a bad feeling about this.

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